


League of Crack

by KuzAnn, ViperOfGrand



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-07 21:24:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1914360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuzAnn/pseuds/KuzAnn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViperOfGrand/pseuds/ViperOfGrand
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where the crazy fics go! This is the repository for all the zany, cracky fics ViperOfGrand and I come up with. We guarantee a lot of weirdness and hopefully a few laughs.  This one involves Twisted Fate and his hat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nobody Touches the Hat(KuzAnn)

Twisted Fate dashed across the hard-packed earth that made up the central lane of Summoner’s Rift.  The skirmish had gone badly, he was injured and out of every last bit of magic he could muster.  Most of the other team were dead or badly injured as well, though the distinct lack of Teemo—who had been wandering around the topmost lane when the fighting broke out—kept it from being entirely fair.

Thresh let out a loud cackle as he followed Twisted Fate.  The Card Master was hurt enough that he would be able to finish him off easily if he could snag him with his chain, despite his being weaker in a standup fight since he was  _ supposed _ to be a "support" champion.  He grumbled to himself about "dirty summoner lawyers" and "that damn contract" as he lifted his arm, scythe and chain in hand.  

It would have been a perfect shot, had Teemo not suddenly appeared from a nearby bush and shot a cloud of blinding poison in his face.  Better late than never, as Teemo would say to his teammates when they scolded him later.  It was mostly his summoner's fault for not paying attention anyway.  

The Chain Warden howled in anger as he clawed at his face with his free hand.  He didn't even know  _ why _ this stuff was able to blind an undead like himself, what did the little rat even  _ use _ in it?  He threw his chain anyway, at least he would take Twisted Fate down with him!

The chain flew forward, but it didn't hit Twisted Fate himself; it was too high for that.  It latched into the gypsy's trademark hat as he ran out of Thresh's range.  

"You damn hamster!" Thresh howled as he caught the hat and wrenched it off the end of his scythe.  

Teemo, however, was quivering in terror as he looked at the hat in Thresh's hands.  "Take cover!" the Swift Scout dove into a nearby bush like his life depended on it and disappeared.  

Thresh was mystified.  Teemo would've killed him if he'd stayed, why leave now?  Because of Twisted Fate?  That couldn't be right.  Sure the gypsy rogue was handy with his cards, but he was a complete pansy if you caught him.  Thresh shrugged and tossed the hat into a nearby bush.  

The Chain Warden was about to turn back when a loud, angry roar echoed through the Rift.

Every champion—save for Thresh, who hadn't the faintest clue as to what it was and didn't care anyway—immediately stopped what they were doing and cast a fearful glance down the middle lane.  

Karthus, who had just started back toward the middle of the Rift, stepped back onto the Fountain platform and took a seat.  "Someone knocked his hat off again, didn't they?" he scowled, obviously not amused by this new development.  

Hecarim soon appeared at the topmost entrance to their base, hurtling past the Nexus at full tilt as if Hell and five whole legions of unholy demons were on his heels.  He slowed only once he reached the Fountain, and galloped in a circle to bleed off speed without falling flat on his face in the process.  "Do you see him?" the Shadow of War danced a nervous jig, like a horse startled by the sound of a large predator.  "I came back as soon as I heard," his hands tightened on the pole of his glaive with an audible creak.

"No, not yet," Karthus grumbled.  

Mordekaiser appeared behind them, having finally been resurrected.  "So who was stupid enough to take his hat?" he growled.

"Mordekaiser, save me!" Hecarim grabbed the Master of Metal, lifted him off the ground, and held him in front of himself like an angry, flailing shield.

"Put me down, you fool!  Have some dignity, for Shadow's sake!"

"But he knocked down a mountain the last time it happened!" Hecarim whined, though he put Mordekaiser down regardless.

"Well you shouldn't have run away," Mordekaiser snapped as he shrugged his shoulders to settle his armor back into place.   "At least it taught you not to wave that stupid glaive of yours around so carelessly," he swung his mighty mace up and allowed it to land on his right shoulder, nearly crushing Hecarim's head in the process.

"Both of you shut up," Karthus silenced the two with a glare.  "I'm trying to hear where he is."

The Rift was completely silent.  The silence was always worse than the screams, it meant you didn't know where the predator was, and that it was too focused on hunting out prey to be bothered with making noise.  As the undead listened and watched, the familiar sound of scraping chains could be heard echoing across the base's stone-paved expanse.

"By the by," Urgot materialized behind the group as he too was resurrected.  "Thresh did it."

This confirmation was met with a group moan, followed by a whimper from Hecarim.  Thresh's crap aim was about to get them all violently murdered, possibly several times over depending on how long it took to actually  _ find _ Twisted Fate's hat, which Thresh had no doubt lost since he didn't know how important it was.

Hecarim considered trying to use Urgot as a meat shield next, then decided against it.  Urgot was just too gross, even for one of his fellow undead.

“Hey, newbie!” Mordekaiser called as Thresh passed their middle Inhibitor.  “What did you do with the hat?”

“Hat?” Thresh paused for a few moments, looking as confused as possible given his skull-like face.  “Oh, that.  I threw it away.”

“ We are so dead!” Hecarim cowered behind the three other champions and tried to make himself as small as possible.  “ _ So dead! _ ”

“ What are you  _ talking _ about?” Thresh snapped, suddenly aware of the loud thundering of fast-approaching footsteps that pounded the beaten dirt behind him.  He turned just in time to see Twisted Fate hurtling toward him from the other end of the Rift’s middle lane.

The unearthly howl that Twisted Fate voiced as he charged toward Thresh was enough to chill the undead’s ectoplasm to near absolute zero.  Save for the distinct lack of hat, the only thing off about Twisted Fate was the fact that only the whites of his eyes were showing.  As well as the expression of livid fury and incredible speeds he was moving at.  The Inhibitor turret shot at the Card Master once before it was leveled in a single blow by one of the gypsy’s bare fists.

“What the fu—” Thresh’s exclamation was cut off by one of Twisted Fate’s fists slamming into the middle of his face.  The impact was strong enough to throw Thresh toward his Nexus, chains trailing behind him.  

Twisted Fate grabbed the two chains as Thresh flew backward; just punching him in the face wouldn't be enough even for  _ touching _ his precious hat, let alone  _ losing _ it.  Thresh slammed into the right-hand Nexus turret with enough force to break it to pieces, which then fell on top of him in an uncomfortable, bone-crushing heap.  He was just considering how effective playing dead might be when the chains yanked him back out of the rubble.  It was then that he realized the beating probably wouldn't stop until he had been reduced to a completely-dead mass of quivering ectoplasm.

As Thresh soared into swinging range, Twisted Fate landed a direct hit on exactly the same portion of the phantom's face that he'd hit before.  This sent him hurtling into the remaining Nexus turret, which also buried him in a large heap of rubble as it collapsed.

"Somebody...  Help...  Me..." Thresh gazed forlornly at the champions on the Fountain and raised his arm in a pitiful begging gesture as the chains pulled him back toward Twisted Fate yet again.

The Nexus was much tougher than its turrets had been.  And much tougher than Thresh.  Twisted Fate continued to pummel him like a morbid yo-yo while the other champions looked on in horror.

Back down the middle lane, Teemo was still hiding in his bush.  He’d watched as Twisted Fate hurtled past to get at Thresh, and he could now hear the Chain Warden screaming as the Card Master pulverized him.  The yordle relaxed slightly and glanced around.  There was Twisted Fate’s hat, caught on some tall grass just a few feet away.  If he could sneak up and get it onto the Card Master’s head before the entire Rift was leveled, he would surely be hailed as a hero by everyone involved.

Teemo grinned, grabbed the hat, and ran straight for the enemy base.  By the time Teemo arrived, Thresh had been reduced to green ectoplasmic paste that was now smeared all over the frontmost side of his Nexus.  Twisted Fate was currently chasing Hecarim around the base, demolishing any and all structures that the Shadow of War tried to hide behind.  Urgot had taken the opportunity to scurry into the forest and away from the destruction.

"You  _ fool _ !" Mordekaiser bellowed from his perch atop the Fountain's megaturret as he shook his mace at the scene below.  “Stop making him destroy our base!”

Karthus still sat on the Fountain platform, still as a statue in an attempt to make Twisted Fate mistake him for a piece of scenery.  It had worked thus far, but he worried that Hecarim might try hiding behind  _ him _ next, in which case his efforts would be utterly pointless.

“I’m sorry, he’s making me panic!” Hecarim darted behind another Inhibitor.

“Be a brave war pony and lead him out of here if you want to flee so much!”

"Nooooo, get back!  I didn't take it this time, I swear!" Hecarim screamed as he galloped away from Twisted Fate, who had just crushed the Inhibitor he was hiding behind with his fists.  "Please don't violently destroy me!"

"Fool!  He's too far-gone to reason with now!"

Sure enough, the Card Master ignored Hecarim's pleas and kept chasing him.  His focus was intense enough that Teemo would be able to pop behind him and put the hat back on without getting in the line of fire.  He sprinted after Twisted Fate and caught up just as the Card Master cornered Hecarim—who had again curled up into a fearful, whimpering ball—and prepared to beat the everloving snot out of him.  The Swift Scout leapt forward as Twisted Fate drew back his fist for the first painful blow.

It was like flipping a switch.  As soon as the hat touched Twisted Fate's head, he slumped to his knees and fell silent.  Teemo landed beside him, head held high in his triumph.

Now that Twisted Fate was no longer acting like a rage-filled berserker demon, the announcer felt it was safe to finally speak up.  " ** MATCH CANCELLED DUE TO RULE VIOLATION.  ALL CHAMPIONS, PREPARE TO BE REMOVED FROM SUMMONER'S RIFT AT ONCE. ** "

Hecarim looked up to see Twisted Fate sitting quietly before him.  "I'm never gonna pay you back for this, but thanks anyway!" he dashed off in the direction of his Fountain, just to be on the safe side.

After a few moments of silence, Twisted Fate's head snapped up and he looked around in surprise.  "Gah I blacked out for a second there, what happened?" he paled and lowered his head so that his hat kept his eyes from view when he saw that the enemy base was in ruins.  "Ah...  Someone took my hat again, didn't they?"

"Afraid so," Teemo folded his arms over his chest with a grave nod.  "Thresh got it when he was trying to kill you."

"Please tell me I didn't break anything big this time..."

Teemo threw a glance behind him at the Nexus that was fractured, sparking with magical discharge, and still had Thresh's pulverized remains smeared on it.  "Nothing very important," he shrugged.

"You can say  _ that _ again!" Mordekaiser hollered from where he'd fallen off the Fountain's turret.  He was climbing out of the crater that was the result of his fall and heavy weight when everyone was teleported out of the Rift.

The other champions grumbled about the cancellation while Thresh regained his bearings.  He spotted the Card Master in the waiting room once he was oriented and pointed an accusing finger at him, "Stupid human, I hope you get punished for this insult to my dignity!"

"What are you blathering about  _ this _ time?" Mordekaiser sounded more bad-tempered than usual as a result of what had just taken place.  "It's against the rules for anyone  _ but _ Twisted Fate to remove the hat from his person.   _ You're _ the one who will be punished," he seemed to be considering dishing out a bit of punishment himself for what Thresh did.

"Yep, he's right," Teemo quipped, having heard the conversation with his sharp yordle ears.  "They put that one in  _ way _ before you even joined, didn't you read it?"

Thresh gave a nervous chuckle and fiddled with his lantern.  “I skimmed them...” in truth, Thresh had not bothered at all with reading the rules and had been finding out what they were the  _ hard _ way ever since he joined the League.

“ Yep,  _ nobody _ touches the hat,” Twisted Fate smirked, then flipped the hat off his head and back on with a flourish, pretending not to notice how Hecarim flinched when it was lifted off his head.  His face abruptly became serious as he locked eyes with Thresh, “So seriously,  _ don’t touch it _ .”

In the end, Thresh was put on probation and given a heavy fine for touching Twisted Fate’s hat.  Hecarim had to see a psychiatrist after the match but still ended up suffering from waking night terrors, and Mordekaiser maintained his bad mood for over a week.  Teemo was given a medal for his bravery in putting a stop to Twisted Fate’s rampage, and Twisted Fate himself spent the rest of the day sleeping, as such explosions of violent emotion always made him extremely tired afterward.

As his saying goes: “ _ Nobody _ touches the hat.”

 


	2. The Shadow of Love

I am Hecarim. I am the Shadow of War. The thunder of my hooves drive even the bravest of men to gibbering insanity as I approach. My glaive bisects man and rider, beast and monster, I bring death everywhere I go. I am Hecarim, I am the reaper of battlefields.

At least, that is who I was, then, I met her. The only one who could possibly match me, the only one who understood the death that accompanies with war, the only one who could stand up to me, to the personification of death itself, and make me cow.

Hundreds of thundering hooves ripped through the air. Hecarim tore through the Ionian forest, his glaive tearing down any obstacle in his path. Whether it was forestry, animal, drunk men dragging fruit wagons, it mattered not. He could taste it in the air. A battlefield was nearby, no...All of Ionia exuded this aura.

Hecarim charged aimlessly through the forest, his soulless eyes lighting up with azure flames as he grew more and more excited. Every step he took on the ground, memories would spring. Acid killed this man in this spot. A spear impaled this woman’s heart, but in her final breath she bit and tore out her killer’s throat. Here, children picked up flowers and happily danced away into the sunset. Nothing bad happened.

Hecarim raised a plated eyebrow. He muttered aloud, “Odd.”

The undead centaur focused his attention back to the gathering of memories, the excitement behind the war that happened here. Within minutes he started to fast approach the Placidium. The moment his hooves stepped off the road, he reared back and let out a bellow of surprise.

The memories here flooded to him. The soldiers here were butchered mercilessly and with the utmost efficiency. He watched as a sword, though it resembled a butterfly in flight, tore men in half, dismembered dozens of others who tried raising their weapons. He saw the flurry of fists strike at armor, crunching metal and collapsing ribcages. They all belonged to...a little...girl? A young girl, with dead, emerald eyes. Hecarim trotted about the field, watching the young girl decimate and butcher an entire cohort of Noxian soldiers. Another patch of ground showed her fighting a Zaunite wartank, her heaving a vermillion blade at the cockpit and instantly splitting the man’s head open. It had passed through the seemingly impenetrable armor of the vehicle without any form of resistance, as though it did not exist.

“Hecarim.”

The centaur looked at the source of the voice, lost in the memories of the field about him.

“What in the Hells are you doing here?”

His flame filled eyes seemingly blinked as he focused on who was regarding him. A man and woman stood side by side. They looked fairly similar, the man was slightly taller than the woman, they both had long, black hair, they both had emerald eyes, but while the man wore some green and black clothing, the woman wore crimson armor. The man had a curved blade sheathed while the woman had...that weapon. That sword, it resembled a butterfly.

The man coughed and looked at the woman, “Irie, you sure this is a good idea?”

“He’s just a jerk. He’s not going to do anything, or else he’s deal with me.” The woman glared at the centaur. “What are you doing here, in Ionia, destroying my home?”

Irelia. That was the little girl. That is whose soulless eyes shone with bloodlust, who understood the idea of war. No pain, no pleasure, just kill. And kill. And kill. Has she changed? She seemed different on the Fields of Justice.

“Sooo...Should we get going?”

Hecarim tilted his head, his glaive held tightly in hand.

“Give me a minute, Zelos, I need to-”

“Are you important to her?” Hecarim growled at Zelos.

The man raised an eyebrow. “...Yes?”

The glaive impaled his stomach, and Hecarim swung him up into the air.

“Gaaah ha haaa! Freaking...! Why is it always impalement? Whyyy?!”

Hecarim pumped the glaive up and down, making Zelos’ body bounce. He stared at Irelia, who seemed to be in some sort of shock.

“What will you do now, Ioni-”

Hecarim did not get a chance to finish his sentence. His own glaive twisted and contorted itself into a 140 degree angle, letting Zelos slide off the blade. This was followed by his weapon attempting to stab at the centaur while the man rolled away, grabbing his stomach. “Why is it always impalement...why?”

Irelia stepped forward, her sword now split apart into four distinct blades, crackling with vermillion energy. Hecarim looked over at her, locking eyes with her. Soulless, emerald eyes stared back at him.

“...Magnificent...”

His legs were sliced out from under him, making him topple like a crippled pony. He ate a mouthful of dirt as his face crashed onto the ground. Hecarim slammed his glaive downwards, the sound of the chilling cavalry howling and racing towards Irelia. On the Fields, everyone was made terrified of impending death. The snort of horses, the bellows of centaurs from a bygone era now raced at Irelia.

Their screams filled the air as blades made of vermillion energy lashed out and decapitated the spirits. She stood her ground.

Hecarim looked up in awe, the woman closed the distance and held her blade in front of his face.

“The only reason you are not dead is because you are a League champion.” Irelia’s eyes narrowed, her tone commanding but lacking any sense of emotion save for raw, unending hatred. “Pick your *DANG* up and get the *FUNK* out of my country.”

Hecarim’s legs rematerialized from underneath him as he stood up at his full height, easily towering over the woman. The two glared at one another, she did not relent. She was not scared of him.

“...What is your name?”

“You know it, dumbass. We fight on the Fields.”

“No. I want to hear you say your name. Say your name.”

Irelia rolled her eyes. “It’s Irelia. Now go away, I need to make sure Zelos doesn’t bleed to death.”

“Irelia...”

“Oh gods damn it, I think I see my kidney! No...no wait, that’s just a rock that’s stuck in my stab wound.”

Hecarim turned around and galloped away, a strange blue tint on his cheeks.

\---------------------------------------

*CLIP CLOP CLIP CLOP*

Hecarim peeked around the corner with a box in hand. He wrapped it using the finest Noxian flesh he could find, hoping it would be an apt present for her. He watched as she drank her tea and ate her food with some...goat lady.

‘Stupid goat lady, go away.’

“Irelia...I think...is that Hecarim...?”

“Yeap.”

“...Why?”

“He hasn’t left me alone since he visited Ionia. I don’t know why, it’s really creepy.”

Hecarim stroked the metal plates on his chin. ‘She is playing hard to get, like any true woman worth her salt. I remember the art of seduction almost as well as I remember the art of war.’ He pumped his fist into the air, glaive in hand as he thought to himself, ‘She will whisper my name! Again and again! I am Hecarim! Hecarim! Hecarim! Yes, yes, yes! You can do this! You can do this! You! Can! Do! This!’

Then he saw that man from before approach Irelia’s back as quiet as death. Zelos, she called him. What is he doing? Hecarim tightened his grip, what does that man think he’s doing, sneaking behind her? Does she not see him?

‘Perhaps she trusts him, and he’s going to betray her! No, no...that’s paranoid. That makes no sen-’

Zelos covered Irelia’s eyes with his hands, growling, “Gotcha!”

Irelia let out a soft, playful shriek and patted Zelos’ hands, “Who is this monster?”

‘Monster? Kill monster?’

“I’m a zombie, and I’mma eat your brains,” he laughed.

*GALLOP GALLOP*

Then Zelos found himself suspended in the air, impaled through his side as Hecarim ran him through. “Do not fear, Irelia, I will vanquish this ruffian!”

“AAGHLCHK!” Zelos flailed his arms about as Hecarim bowled customers, waiters, tables, small dogs over. “Whyyy?!”

“Hecarim!” Irelia shouted. “The hell?!”

Hecarim looked back at her, suspending Zelos in the air. “...He admitted that he was going to devour your sacrosanct cranium. This cannot be allowed. Is there a problem?”

“He’s my brother you idiot! He’s not going to eat my brains!” She threw her hands up and pointed at the centaur, her tone depicting her absolute rage at Hecarim. “Leave him alone already you crazy ass pony!”

Hecarim stared at Zelos who was wiggling at the end of the glaive. “...So you’re her brother?”

“Yes! I am! This should hurt so much more than it does! Gah!”

“You’re not trying to eat her brains?”

“Not trying to...The hell are you smoking? No!”

Hecarim heaved Zelos off his glaive and stared at Irelia. “...Theoretically, if I offered you the brains of your enemy, would you consider going to first b-”

A swift uppercut cracked Hecarim’s jaw, sending him flying into the distant landscape. Irelia watched him become a sparkle in the clouds. She palmed her face and looked over at Zelos, “You okay, Zelly?”

“I think...he has my liver...and he also left this.” Zelos pointed at a box wrapped in flesh. “...Yeah, I’m not touching this with a forty foot pole. Soraka, can you drag my crippled ass to the medical ward? Thank you.”

Irelia sighed and poked the box with her blade. It unfolded open, and she stared at its contents with a puzzled expression.

As Hecarim sailed through the sky, watching the birds, and Anivia, and Corki, go by, he thought to himself, ‘Step one: Kill all enemies. Step two: Teddy bears and poetry. Rinse and repeat until successful, then advance to step three.’ He smiled broadly. ‘All according to my sexy plan.’

Inside the box, a very, very scared, very traumatized Teemo was tied up and quaking in absolute fear. The skinned, bloodied fur of a bear was messily taped and glued onto him with a card that bore a heart drawn in blood. The card read,

“Let us slaughter the infidels, my Irelia, and love.  
As for all the rumors of those stern geriatrics,  
Let us cut their hearts out and dance in their entrails  
Suns may set and yet rise again, but  
Us, with our brief light, can set but once, and then live in eternal undeath.  
One never-ending night of continual slaughter must be kept then slept and then kept some more.  
Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred hugs.  
Then, another thousand hugs, and a second hundred kisses.  
Then, if you feel up for it, yet another thousand, and a hundred of your choice.  
When we have counted up many thousands, no, hundreds of thousands  
Let us kill everyone who ever counted the numbers, so that no one may know the number,  
And those who are somehow still alive die from jealousy when they see  
How many kisses and hugs we shared.”

Irelia stared at the poem, then at Teemo, who whispered aloud, “He...he recited it...six hundred, and sixty six times...to me...He made me correct the prose...” The Yordle let out a sob, “It’s awful...So awful...”

“...Alright then.” Irelia put the card back, slowly walked away from the box and took off in a sprint. She was later found trying to scrub her eyes clean with steel wool and hydrochloric acid.

\----------------------------------------------------

Her name is Irelia.

I am Hecarim, the Shadow of War to all but to her. To her, I am Hecarim, the Shadow of Love.


	3. Little Red Riding Annie

****The elegant, golden door knocker is lifted and struck thrice, to let the master of the house know that you have arrived. The door creaks open, and a cute little Voidling, one you know as Kog'Maw, is dressed in a dapper little suit. He smiles at you, his eyes light up. His maw opens as he trumpets as loud as he can, "GUEST IS HERE! YAY YAY YAY! GUEST IS HERE! YAY YAY YAY!"  
  
With that, the dapper Voidling waddles away, leading you to the reason as for why you came. Down the hallways, candles burned and showed elegant portraits of the long lineage of the master's house. For some reason, they all had the perchance of monocles and ridiculously large, hyper sharp claws.  
  
Up the stairs, down the hall, fourth door on the right, Kog'Maw baps it open with a strike of his head. You go inside, and see the master of the house: Gentleman Cho'Gath, sitting in his library with a cup of tea in one claw and a leather bond book in the other. He raises his cup to his serrated mouth when he spots you. His polite voice instantly booms in your head, "WELCOME! WELCOME TO MY ABODE! YOU ARE JUST IN TIME!"  
  
The demonic creature from an unfathomable land and place raised one of his multiple limbs up to his face, seemingly ashamed. "Do forgive me, I was simply overexcited about your arrival! You are just in time!"  
  
Kog'Maw shook excitedly, "STORY TIME STORY TIME YAAAY!"  
  
"Indeed it is, little Koggy! It is, in fact, story time! So, please, take your seats, and let us begin today's story: Little Red Riding Annie." Cho'Gath turned the book about, his monocle twitching slightly. "What an odd name. You'd think whoever wrote this would think of a better title."  
  
\--------------------------------  
  
Once upon a time, there lived a little girl. Her name was Annie, but for everyone that saw her they called her Little Red Hood. This was because she always wore the red hood her dearest mother had lovingly sewed for her. Wherever she went, her favorite stuffed bear was always clung tightly in one arm, a basket of flowers hung off her other, and that adorable hood wrapped itself snugly around her shoulders. She was a happy girl, who always sang sweetly, and always asked everyone two questions:  
  
"Wanna be friends?" She would then smile and laugh her beautiful, innocent laugh, and the response would always be the same from everyone she asked, "Of course, Little Red Hood!"  
  
Her second question, would always be accompanied by her shoving her bear in front of her face, waving it menacingly at the person she asked, "Have you seen Tibbers?!"  
  
"Of course we have seen Tibbers, Annie! How can we ever miss little Tibbers?"  
  
Now, Little Annie's mother and father were busy people, but they always found time to look after their little girl. One day, they had received a letter that Annie's grandma was sick. Annie's grandma lived past the woods by herself, and she would come every other week to visit her favorite, and only, grandchild.  
  
Annie insisted that for once, she would visit her grandma to make sure she was alright. She was a big girl now, according to herself. She would bring grandma her favorite foods and her favorite flowers and she would wish her in person to get better soon.  
  
"Alright, Annie, but you must promise me that you take care of yourself and to be careful. Be sure to bring Tibbers along, just in case."  
  
"Of course mommy, Tibbers will never be far!"  
  
With that, little Annie put on her little red hood, tied it up, took the basket of goodies her mother had prepared, stuffed Tibbers within it, and took off skipping to grandma's house.  
The woods, despite it being nearly noon, were a dark place, but Annie was not scared. She happily skipped down the path, singing a sweet song, "Dam dadi doo, dam dam de doody dah, dam dadi doo, dam dam de doody dah, when the morning come come I'm dancing like you're dumb dumb and when the groove is high when dummies jump to sky, if you feel the groove groove and your body's meant to move move~"  
  
She barely noticed the shadow that seemed to follow her every step.Annie continued on singing when a wolfman jumped out in front of her. His blue fur, his long face, the red glint in his eyes showed that he was a fearsome beast, but she was not scared.  
  
The wolfman gave a deep, polite bow to the little girl, growling in his gruff voice, "Why hello there little miss! Who are you?"  
Annie gave a cute curtsey back to the wolfman, "My name is Annie!"  
  
The wolfman extended a hand out to her, his long claws easily encompassing her tiny hand. "Charmed, my dear. I am sure that is not your real name though. I would fathom to think that your name would be...Mm, Little Red Hood, for you wear such a darling little hood. I am Warwick."  
  
Annie giggled in response. She took his hand and beamed a bright, beautiful smile at him. "Hello Mr. Warwick! Wanna be friends with me?"  
"Is that so wise, little Annie? We have just met, what would your mother say?" Warwick stared curiously at the girl, wondering what she would say.  
  
"What would she say? I dunno!" Annie giggled and shrugged her little shoulders. "Everyone's my friend, so I'm everyone's friend!"  
  
"I see, I see!" Warwick tilted his head, his eyes glowing a bright red. "And where are you going, little Annie?"  
  
"Off to gramma's house, she lives in the little house at the other end of the forest!"  
  
"Oh ho? Why are you visiting her?"  
  
"She's sick, so I want to bring her some stuff to help her feel better!"  
  
The wolfman stroked his chin and gave a wolfish grin at the little girl. "Might I suggest for you to take some of those flowers, over yonder, to her then? There are none like them that you've ever seen!"  
  
Warwick pointed at an opening in the trees that led to a beautiful field of blood red flowers.  
  
"Gramma would love them!" Annie excitedly squeaked. She ran over to them, the basket bouncing up and down with every step she took. She looked back and slapped her forehead, "Oh! I'm sorry! Have you seen Tibbers?"  
  
The wolfman laughed and shook his head, "No, I have not, Little Red, I have not! Perhaps another day, I must be off! I have some business that I must attend to!"  
  
"Alright! Bye bye, Mr. Warwick!" Annie waved at him and ran towards the fields, while Warwick disappeared into the woods.  
  
The wolfman fell on all fours and took off running, easily navigating through the woods. He knew them better than anyone, and he would reach her grandmother's house far before Annie herself would. The old woman would be stringy from age, sure, but that is why he would wait for the little girl. He would consume her, bones and all, for he was a very hungry wolf.  
  
Warwick reached the quaint little mudbrick house. He reached at the doorknob and twisted it, expecting it to be locked. He laughed a hyena laugh when the door swung open effortlessly, the old woman had not bothered to lock it. Warwick knew his laughter would give him away, but it mattered not. She was old, she would not be able to run as much as he would prefer for her to. After all, it was only fun if they run.  
  
The wolfman snorted and smelled about the house, making his way in. "Grandma dear, I'm here!"  
  
No response.  
  
Warwick pushed the bedroom door open, and saw an old lady in her bed. He trotted over and poked her with his cold nose, she did not move. He listened with his big ears, she was not breathing. Warwick checked her pulse, there was none, and she was colder than even his nose. Apparently, she was dead. This was no fun at all. With a sigh, he grabbed the old woman and dragged her out of bed, looking for a place to put her. The closet was too small to hide a body, after all, who would think putting a body in such a trite place as a closet? Perhaps the oven?  
  
That was when Warwick spotted a large black cauldron, outside the back entrance of the kitchen. It was half filled with water already, and had kindling underneath it. It was large enough to throw in an entire cow, never mind a person. He would make grandma stew, in order to soften her meat. He stuffed grandma into the cauldron, grabbed the nearby flint and stone, started the fire and grinned in glee. He would have an appetizer and a good dinner.  
  
Warwick looked about in the kitchen to see what he could add, and saw various spices and fresh vegetables already on the counter. He grabbed them all and unceremoniously dumped them into the cauldron, the fire already burning brightly. While she stewed, he would get ready for Annie, for she would soon be coming.  
  
He dashed to the bedroom, grabbed the largest, pinkest dress he could find, along with a hair bonnet to hide his ears, and grabbed grandma's oversized reading glasses from her table and jumped into her bed. He nestled in tight, and waited for Annie to come. Soon, dinner would be at hand.  
Annie pushed the front door open and called out loud, "Granma! Granma? Are you awake?"  
  
"Yes dear, I am!"  
  
"Granma, why do you sound so funny?"  
  
Warwick coughed and rubbed his throat. He attempted to sound older, more of a croon than anything. "Sorry dear, this sickness is awful! It makes me sound like a wolf!"  
  
"Don't worry, gramma! That's why I'm here!"   
  
Annie skipped into grandma's room. She put the basket on the ground and opened it, dozens of crimson flowers spilling out from within. Her tiny hand darted into the basket and took out a large, gingerbread cookie. "I brought you cookies, Gramma! Mum made them!"  
  
"That's wonderful, dear, that's wonderful." Warwick scratched the side of his neck, knowing that he would have to eat the atrocious biscuit.   
  
"Hope it's not too sweet for you, gramma!" Annie looked over and blinked in surprise. "Oh my, gramma! What big eyes you have!"  
  
"All the better to see you with, my dear!" Warwick licked his lips, staring at the supple, delicious flesh of the little girl. She looked more than good enough to eat. He would savor the sweet blood of the girl's tender flesh for a long time. However, he did not want to pick clothing from his teeth. The last time he had such a dinner, he spent more time cleaning his jaw of fabric than enjoying his meal. "It's hot in here, Annie, don't you agree?"  
  
Annie shrugged, smiling at the wolf in her grandma's clothing. "Not really, I'm fine, gramma!"  
  
"No no, I insist dear! Make yourself comfortable, take your hood off, get comfortable!"  
  
The little girl shrugged and untied the string for her hood. The basket shook ever so slightly from within. Annie flopped her hood on top of the basket. She still held the cookie in her hand as she walked over to the wolf. She tilted her head and giggled," Gramma! What a big nose you have!"  
  
"All the better to smell you, my dear!" Warwick motioned to the basket and asked, "Do you have something for my throat, dear? I'm a little bit...thirsty!"  
  
"Of course, gramma!"  
  
Annie reached into the basket once more, rummaged for a bit and took out a bottle of red wine and a corkscrew. Apparently grandma liked drinking. The little girl oddly thanked the basket and made her way to the wolf in her grandma's clothing. She handed the bottle to Warwick, along with the corkscrew. She blinked and stared at Warwick, suspicion forming on her face. "Granma, wh-"  
  
The red wine flew out of the bottle as Warwick opened it, purposely clumsily spilling the liquid onto Annie's dress. She let out a quiet squeak of surprise and groaned, "Oh nooo! I'm sorry, gramma!"  
  
"It's no worry, my dear! Just change your blouse, I should have a spare one in my closet for you!"  
  
"Alright, thank you granma!"  
  
The basket quietly rustled once more.  
  
Annie walked over to the closet, and opened it. She stared to undo her blouse, and the first sign of supple flesh was more than enough for the bloodthirst of the wolf. Warwick slid out of the bed and his feet crashed across the hardwood floor.  
  
The little girl squeaked, "Gramma! What quick feet you have!"  
  
"All the better to catch you with, my dear!"  
  
Warwick grabbed the little girl and shoved her into the closet, pining her down. His lips peeled back and showed his wolfish grin.   
  
Annie, however, smiled back at him. "Have you seen my bear Tibbers?"  
  
"No, no I have not!" He raised his clawed hand, and swept downwards. A shadow darted out of the basket and blood messily splattered the closet and the floor.  
  
A blood curdling shriek filled the air. A mile away, a yordle woodcutter heard the noise. He ran towards the source, knowing full well where it could have come from. The...metal plates...? (Is this right? Huh. I guess it is.) clanked noisily with every step as the woodcutter ran towards Granma's house. He kicked the door open and looked about. He called out in a morose tone, "Annie? Annie? Are you here?"  
  
He ran to the kitchen, no sign of Annie save for the old woman in the boiling cauldron. He ran to the bedroom and burst into tears at the sight of the blood stained room. "No...Annie! ANNIE! WHY..." The Yordle pointed at the blood stained girl, "Why are you cooking him so much? He's well-done! Meat needs to be medium! Why would you do such a-"  
  
"Ammy!" Annie snapped. She stood up and put her hands on her hips, puffing her cheeks out in indignation. "What are you dressed up as?!"  
  
"A-a-a knight, Annie," the Yordle sheepishly replied. He scuffed his metal greave on the ground. "I-I like them better than woodcutters."  
  
"But this story has a handsome woodcutter!" Annie crossed her arms, the blood dripping from her arms, obviously upset.  
  
"I-I'm sorry, A-Annie, I just...I just like...I just like knights..."  
  
The little girl giggled and shrugged, "It's okay, Ammy! I was just having fun with you! Tibbers is almost done cooking!"  
  
Over the corpse of the wolfman, whose chest had been torn open and his head messily decapitated, sat a large shadow bear, eerily reminiscent of the teddy she always carried with her. The stone floor easily bore the heat of the flames that exuded from the bear as he continued to cook the remains.  
  
Annie looked over at him and puffed her cheeks out. She waved an admonishing finger at him, "Tibbers! You know Ammy doesn't like it so well done!"  
  
"GROANK."  
  
"Tibbers."  
  
"Groank..." Tibbers' fire quickly died out, the charred flesh of the wolf now ready for dinner.   
  
Annie looked at her Yordle friend, tilting her head, "Have you seen gramma, Ammy?"  
  
"Y-yes, Annie! She's in th-the backyard, in her hot tub!"  
  
An old voice called out, "Is that you, little Annie?"  
  
The old woman shuffled into the room, drenched from head to toe in water, smelling of spices. A loose head of cabbage drooped on her shoulder as she walked in. She shook her head, "I set up my tub, had a few glasses of wine, went to sleep and next thing you know I wake up and I'm in a..." She squinted at the corpse on the floor. "What is that, Annie? Where are my glasses?"  
  
A big bear paw held out the glasses to grandma, who took them from him. "Thank you, Tibbers, now then...let's see. Oh my! Who's this rapscallion?"  
  
"He said he wanted to be friends," Annie smiled. "He was a liar. I killed him and set him on fire."  
  
"GROANG."  
  
"Tibbers helped."  
  
"GROANG."  
  
"*Really* helped."  
  
Granma chuckled and snapped her fingers. Fire danced out from her hand and her clothes started to dry. "I think this will be a nice dinner to have, don't you agree, dear?"  
  
"Mhm!"  
  
Amumu scratched the back of his helmet, "Ah, um...so, you're not in trouble, so I guess I'll-"  
  
"Have dinner with us!" Annie stomped on the floor playfully. "I insist!"  
  
"R-really? O-okay..."  
  
And so, the four of them supped, dined and had a gay old time. If there was one thing that the wolf should have known, was that one should be careful whom they meet in the woods.  
  
___________________________________  
  
Gentleman Cho'Gath closed the book and stared at Kog'Maw, "Did you enjoy that story?"  
  
"YAH YAH YAH!"  
  
He looked over at his guest, you, and grinned his wolfish grin. "How about you, old chap? Did you enjoy the story? I'm sure you did!" Cho'Gath leaned back in his chair and laughed a gentlemanly laugh. "Be sure to come back for next time's story! Tah tah for now!"


	4. The Reluctant Minion - A Minion is Found

“DEFEAT!” cried the announcer in a booming voice.   
  
“Defeat? Again?” Syndra’s eyes went wide with rage, her teeth started to grind against one another. “No! I cannot lose! I don’t do  _lose_! Only losers lose!”  
  
Nidalee let out a loud sigh rubbed her eyes furiously. This child irked her so very, very much. Every League match in her high pitched voice she talks about how great and mighty and powerful she is, blah blah blah, a legion couldn’t stop me, I’m power without limit, woopty flippity doo.  
  
The feral woman clapped Syndra’s shoulder and growled in her ear, “Hey, here’s a thought: Maybe you’re a loser.”  
  
“Wh...?” Syndra spun out of Nidalee’s grip and hissed at her. “No I’m not! You’re the one that-”  
  
“That secured the top lane, nibbled on Shen’s bicep multiple times, escaped Lee Sin’s ambushes repeatedly, and destroyed their tower in less than ten minutes. You, however...sorta sucked and died. A lot.”  
  
“Me?!” she screeched. “It was my dumb summoner’s fault! He doesn’t know how to control my power!”  
  
“Mhm...it could also be that you just suck,” Nidalee purred back. “Besides, this loss means I have time to go hunting for some real food.”  
  
Syndra rolled her eyes and snorted. “Ugh, just go to the League cafeteria like a normal person.”  
  
“Or!” The feral woman snapped her fingers and snarled at Syndra, “I can go hunting with my friends and family, and enjoy my life, unlike you.”  
  
The Sovereign’s eyes narrowed, her hands balled up into fists. “What. Are you. Talking about?”  
  
“I’m saying you’re the sad kid in the corner that really, no one cares about. At all. Do you realize that you have less friends than Twitch?”  
  
“I have minions!”  
  
“Veigar has more than ya, sweetie pie, and minions doesn't mean friends.”  
  
“That rodent doesn't have any friends!”  
  
A squeaky voice spoke up, followed by an awful, pungent aroma. “Actually, I’m gonna go play cards with Zac after this. We’re gamblin’ high stakes this time: Ten years aged cheddar.”  
  
Syndra stared at Twitch, not quite sure how to react.  
  
“What are you doing after this, Syndra?”  
  
“Uh...S-stuff...” she stuttered. “Yeah, important stuff! Nothing a peon like you needs to know!”  
  
“She’s going to go to her sad corner,” Nidalee mockingly whispered to Twitch.  
  
“Shut up! I’ve got friends!”  
  
“Name one.”  
  
Syndra looked at Nidalee, then at Twitch, then looked around her for the rest of her teammates. A blue light surrounded them, and they were brought back into the lobby. Both teams were there, from Lee Sin to Master Yi, there was that scruffy Graves guy there, and Taric...Taric!   
  
That weirdo is friends with everyone!  
  
Syndra canceled her levitation and started to strut over to the gem knight. Before he saw her, before she could utter a word, a loaded crossbow was held in front of her face.  
  
“No.”  
  
Syndra did not get a chance to ask what Vayne meant. The witch hunter simply reiterated herself, “No.”  
  
“But-”  
  
“No.”  
  
“I just-”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Will y-”  
  
Vayne reached up and twanged the crossbow’s string, making the bolt shudder from the tautness.  
  
“I just wanna talk to him!”  
  
“Last time you did you broke every bone in his hand.”  
  
Syndra stamped her foot on the ground. “It’s not my fault he was going for the last slice of cake! I mean come on, I saw it first!”  
  
Taric had finally made his way over and lightly clasped Vayne’s shoulder, making the witch hunter lower her weapon. He spoke to Syndra in his usual, calm tone. “I would have given you the last slice, if only you had asked. Despite how sharp Obsidian can be, she only has the best intentions for my safety. And I ask you to respect her wishes.”  
  
“...But...”  
  
“For your safety, more than mine. Perhaps if you applied a carnelian on your brow, and a few well-cut turquoise gems, then we can have healthier communication.”  
  
Syndra tilted her head, her eyes showing that she was indeed, confused. “...That sounds really dumb.”  
  
Taric let out a sigh, forced a smile and patted Vayne’s shoulder. The two left without saying a word more.  
  
“Wow. You’re truly, truly, truly, amazing,” Nidalee snickered aloud.  
  
Syndra crossed her arms and snorted with indignation. “Whatever. He sucks.”  
  
“Uh huh.”  
  
“I don’t need friends, I need minions. I need people to respect me, there’s no one who I can call my ‘equal.’”  
  
Nidalee rolled her eyes and waved the Sovereign off. “Whatever. Buh-bye.”  
  
“Huh?” Syndra looked back, giving the feral woman the stink eye. “Where are you going?”  
  
“Friends, hanging out, slaughtering a fat moose and then eating it, followed by napping, the usual,” Nidalee said while walking away. “It`s funny, how a feral person, like me, can really go to any city-state and find at least one person I can probably befriend while the civilized snooty one, like you is...well, you.”  
  
Syndra watched each champion disappear from the room, each talking about plans they had, and every time they looked at her, they gave her a weird look. Except the monk, he was blind, hard for him to look. Hah! A clever joke, she made. If only she...had someone to tell.  
  
Everyone left the lobby, leaving Syndra completely alone. Even Twitch left chatting about his ultimate plan in poker, something about how he will sink Zac’s battleships with his aces...Is that how you played poker?  
  
What was poker anyways? She never heard of it while under her master’s tutelage.  
  
Syndra crossed her arms, and walked over to the corner. Everyone else just sucked. They all didn’t realize how great she was. They didn’t realize how awesome she was. Ignorance is bliss, the stupid find happiness easier than a great _genius_ like her would. She knew better than them.  
  
Yet, after only a minute, she burst into loud, annoying tears.  
  
Outside the lobby, Malcolm Graves was making his way back in. He left behind his flask after Taric asked him for a swig of it. Something about helping him calm his nerves because of some sort of proposal? Some nonsense, wasn’t sure what his business was but hey, guy was polite and did well in the match, so why not? He grumbled aloud as he pushed the door open, “Good job Malcolm, fergettin’ t-”  
  
Then he heard the wail. He grabbed the nearest table, flipped it over and yelled, “Prison break lads! The explosion’s gone off! Move move move! I’ll catch up t’the rest o’ya!”  
  
Graves checked his gun, the loud siren still going off, and rolled into firing position at the source of the wailing.  
  
Syndra had mucus running down from her nose, tears the size of marbles rolling down her face.  
  
“What in th’...?”  
  
“Go away!” she yelled in a distraught tone.   
  
Unfortunately for Graves, her yell literally made him fly across the floor, and the table he had used for cover shatter into several large pieces of lumber.  
  
‘ _Ooooh bugger. Alright, think yer way, Malcolm, think yer way. Y’can’t shoot her, she can crush ya like a grape, and...she’s cryin’. How do you make a woman stop cryin’?_ ’  
  
“Uh...stop crying?”  
  
This only made Syndra wail louder, he could swear that his eardrums would explode at any moment.  
  
‘ _Okay, new plan!_ ’  
  
“Please, stop cryin’?”  
  
‘ _You just tried that! Come on brain, help me out here. What do women like? ...Stop that. Use yer upper brain, moron. Look, what do I got on me?_ ’  
  
Graves quickly started to pat at his pockets, not sure how much more torture he could take.   
  
“Will you shaddup already?!” he bellowed.  
  
Syndra instantly fell quiet, blinking and sniffling.  
  
‘ _Huh. That worked. Nice going brain. Yer welcome, now check yer pockets._ ’  
  
Graves moved one hand to his pockets, rummaging through them as he walked over to Syndra. Buckshot, gunpowder, more buckshot; that particularly hilarious, and oh so black-mailable, picture that Veigar drew, but otherwise nothing useful in those set of pockets.  
  
‘ _Alright, now make sure she doesn’t start cryin’ again._ ’  
  
“So why were you tryin’ to flood the room?”  
  
‘ _The hell are you thinking?!_ ’  
  
Syndra took a hard sniff, the sound of mucus being sucked in a loud and fairly unladylike noise. Oh gods no, don’t start again.  
  
“Wait, I didn’t mean it like that, I uh...”  
  
‘ _Check yer damn pockets! I did! Check yer other ones!_ ’  
  
Graves’ hand started to smack at any and all pockets he had wildly. Come on, come on, something, something, then he heard the crinkle of paper. It wasn’t the drawing, what could it...The chocolate bar.   
  
‘ _Oh come on! Do y’know how expensive this thing is?! It’s five gold a pop! Look man, this ain’t about yer damn chocolate anymore. Just lookit her._ ’  
  
Graves squinted his eyes, Syndra’s lips were quivering and readying to emit yet another series of ear-splitting cries.  
  
‘ _Five gold versus keepin’ yer blood in yer head. Do you really hafta think about this? ...Seriously, you are? Just give her the chocolate, stupid! But it’s- Shut up and do it!_ ’  
  
“Geez, fine brain,” he grumbled aloud. Graves reached into his pocket while he closed the distance between him and Syndra, drew out the chocolate bar that had read, “ _Snake’s Kiss, Cassiopeia’s Only Choice in Chocolate,_ ” and knelt down in front of her.  
  
“Now listen, girlie. I’m gonna give you this,” he said in a gruff tone. “On the condition, on the lone condition that y’stop cryin’. Alright?”  
  
Syndra sniffled and mumbled out a few incoherent words.  
  
Graves sighed and reached into his back pocket. He drew out a handkerchief and held it out to her along with the chocolate bar. “Clean yerself up, blow yer nose, keep the hankie and eat the dang chocolate, alright?”  
  
“Why are you being so nice to me?” she sniffled.  
  
‘ _Cause I like my insides where they are and I ain’t in the mood to give the lobby a fresh coat of red._ ’  
  
“Cause...Reasons.” Graves drummed his knee, waiting for Syndra to take the items from him.  
  
Eventually, she took the handkerchief from him, and loudly blew her nose into it. She wiped the sides of her face with the clean edges of the fabric and then stared at the chocolate bar. “...Are these offerings?”  
  
“Yeah, sure,” he said, paying half attention, trying his best not to notice that he could see up her skirt way too easily. For a moment, he thought that he should ask why was a Sovereign wearing the world’s shortest skirt, which was followed by his brain mentally slapping him. “Yer done cryin’?”  
  
Syndra gave him a slow nod and opened the chocolate’s wrapping. She started to nibble on it while Graves stood up and started to scan the room. Eventually, his eyes fell on his flask that was somehow still intact.  
  
“Don’t you have people to see?”  
  
“Hrn?” Graves pocketed his flask and glanced at Syndra. “What was that?”  
  
“Aren’t you going to go with other peons, ‘friends’, and do whatever you commoners do?”  
  
Graves shook his head, “Naw. I ain’t got ‘ _friends_ ’, just a goal, little lady. And 'sides, y’dont need friends t’hang out with people. Sometimes people just like another mouth to spout nonsense and another pair of fists to brawl with.” He gave her a quick wave of his hand before walking away.   
  
‘ _Alright, maybe you should say something to make sure she won’t start crying again. Just seal the deal._ ’  
  
“By th’way, you weren’t half bad in the match. Later.”  
  
Syndra’s eyes lit up. She smiled, and looked at the chocolate bar. “Hee hee...I have a minion.”  
  
She shot up from her position and started to levitate once more. She easily caught up to Graves while asking, “Well, if you don’t have anything to do, then maybe you can do something for me?”  
  
‘ _Say no. Say no. Say no. Say. No._ ’  
  
“Not really, no,” Graves replied, not looking at her.  
  
“I’m hungry.”  
  
“That’s wonderful. Go do somethin’ about it.”  
  
“Make me a sandwich?”  
  
Graves stopped mid-step. “Say what?”  
  
‘ _No seriously, what’d she say?_ ’  
  
“Make me a sandwich?”  
  
‘ _Heh. She actually did say that. Bwahahaha! Wait, no, don’t laugh, she can still crush yer coin purse like-_ ’  
  
“Bwahahaha! Ha! Ha ha!”  
  
A loud metallic crunch rang out. Alcohol started to dampen his pants, or at least, he hoped it was alcohol. He could feel his flask twist and contort into an unrecognizable shape.  
  
“Minion. Make me a sandwich.”  
  
Graves stared at Syndra, an indignant expression on her face, her eyes humming with magical energy.  
  
‘ _Welp, you heard the lady. Make her a sandwich._ ’  
  
He let out a sigh and growled, “Just this once, alright? Don’t expect this every time.”  
  
“Yay!” Syndra clapped her hands together excitedly and grabbed Graves's arm. She started to pull him as she rattled off how she wanted her sandwich prepared. “I want the crusts cut off, the bread cut into bite sized triangles, no baloney, no cucumber, I want five types of cheese but no stinky cheese, and no white cheese, and I like turkey but not smoked turkey, but I don’t really want any turkey this time and I also like salami but only the fresh kind and-”  
  
‘ _Just keep remindin’ yerself, Malcolm, just this once. Just this once. Just this once._ ’  
  
And so, ends the first of many stories of our reluctant minion.  
  
‘ _Wait, hold on a second. Lemme read that last sentence up there. ‘First of many’...WHAT?!_ ’  
  
You heard me, Graves.  
  
‘ _You scum licking rat sonova-_ ’  
  
Next time on ‘The Reluctant Minion’ - Graves doesn’t want to see the dinosaurs.  
  
‘ _What kind of dumb sentence is-_ ’  
  
“And tomorrow, I wanna go see the dinosaurs! I’ve never seen dinosaurs before!”  
  
‘ _...Hate you. I hate you. And her. I hate both of you. So much._ ’

 


	5. Hat Trick(KuzAnn)

“ **Walk.**   **Forward!** ” Graves hollered down the hallway as a disoriented, drunken Udyr tried to make his way through it.  The Outlaw was standing with Olaf and Twisted Fate—Graves had only agreed to come along for the chance to harass his arch-enemy in any way he could—in the hallway that was currently being blocked by Udyr.  “That ain't forward y’ idjit!” he yelled as Udyr stumbled into the opposite wall.  Now he was seriously regretting even _considering_ coming along, given how dangerous Udyr could be while drunk.  He turned and scowled at Olaf, who was standing between himself and Twisted Fate, “Why’d y’ even mention booze if y’ knew this would happen?  He got smashed after _one damn sip_!”

“Hey I thought he could handle it!” Olaf crossed his heavily-muscled arms over his chest and gave Graves an annoyed glare.

“I dunno why _you’re_ gettin’ so uppity at ‘im, _Graves_ ,” Twisted Fate leaned around Olaf to glare at Graves from under his hat.  “ _You_ were goading Udyr on right along with ‘im.”

Graves glared down the hallway at Udyr, then looked back at Twisted Fate in time to spot that the Card Master was trying to set up a Gate for himself on the sly.  The Outlaw reached over and gave Twisted Fate's long hair a good hard yank before he could finish the spell.

“Ahow!” the spell faded the moment Twisted Fate’s concentration was broken.  “Let go!” he grabbed the length of hair above Graves's fist and tried to pull away.  “What are you, five?”

“Told ya earlier, Fate.  Yer not teleportin’ outta here unless yer takin’ us with you,” Graves snarled.  He gave Twisted Fate's hair one more hard tug before releasing him, just to make sure he got his point across.

Twisted Fate shook his hair out after Graves released him and gave the Outlaw an angry glare.  “I can't take more'n myself through the Gate, an’ you know it,” he snapped.

“What, cause yer a crap mage on top of bein’ a crap par'ner?”

“Y'mean like how you were a crap conman?”

Graves took Twisted Fate by the collar and shoved his face in the Card Master’s own, “You wanna fight?”

“Let's go!”

A big hand grabbed each by the ear before they could start fighting and slammed their heads together.  Olaf followed up by grinding his knuckles against their temples, “Are you _trying_ to get Udyr's attention?”

A thump from down the hallway caught their attention, and the three looked up in time to see Udyr walk into the wall again.  Olaf released the two now that there was no chance of them trying to fight again and watched for an opening.

Twisted Fate’s frown deepened at the sight as he rubbed the side of his face that Olaf had abused; the last time Udyr got this drunk near him, the Animal Spirit had ended up breaking both of the Card Master’s arms while trying to get his hands on his hat.  Needless to say, Fate wasn't too happy about having to possibly go through such an ordeal again.  “I think we should just leave him here and go out the back way,” the little ray of hope caused his expression to lighten as he spoke.

“Have fun with that,” Graves craned his neck to get a better look at the space Udyr was leaving open and wondered if he could get through if he made a run for it.  “Don’t you remember what night it is?”  Normally he wouldn’t warn his arch-enemy about walking into something so awful, but he was considering the fact that he might have to shove Twisted Fate into Udyr to save himself, if it came to that.

Fate paused as he recalled the date, and his face fell when he realized what Graves meant.  “Aw, hell,” Twisted Fate grimaced and lowered his hat over his eyes.  Tonight was Wednesday, which meant that the poetry group would be occupying the auditorium that he and the others would have to walk through to escape.  Udyr might be bad, but he'd heard things about what listening to the poetry of Hecarim, Malzahar, and Zed could do to a man's sanity, and the few details actually given to him were enough to make his skin crawl.  Not to mention the fact that he'd heard it would make your ears bleed, having not yet been so _unfortunate_ as to hear it himself.  Being beaten senseless by a drunk Udyr might be better than seeing into the depraved imaginations of anyone in _that_ group.

Farther down the hall, Udyr backed away from the wall he'd been leaning against and flopped down face-first on the floor, apparently unconscious.  The trio waited for a few moments to see if he would move, but the burly man remained completely still as they watched him.

When Udyr did not move again, the trio made a silent dash down the hallway in an attempt to get past him before he regained consciousness.  They were almost in the clear when Udyr sprang up behind them.  Before any of them could react, Udyr wrapped his arms around all three in a massive bear hug that was tight enough to prevent any of them from wriggling free.  He then swayed drunkenly and barged straight through the wall next to them, finally coming to a stop in an upright seated position with the three still clutched tightly to his chest.

Olaf looked around once Udyr had come to rest and tried to wiggle free, to no avail.  “Well, at least we're outside now,” he grumbled.

“Yeah too bad it doesn’t do us any damn good at this point!” Graves snapped as he struggled to get free as well.  He could hear Twisted Fate let out a quiet groan from the other side of Olaf.

“He’s gonna break my arms again…” Fate moaned, not bothering to try getting free.  Udyr was too strong, it was a futile effort anyway.  His face paled at the thought of the pain that was sure to come his way.

The three were interrupted in their respective struggles and moping by a light snore from Udyr, who had suddenly fallen asleep.  This got a sigh of relief from Twisted Fate, who figured that Udyr would at least be less likely to break his arms while asleep.  The other two grumbled over being stuck, not having had painful encounters with drunk Udyr in the past.

“Worst bar night ever,” Olaf grumbled as he turned away from Udyr's slight beer breath.  Had he known Udyr was so easy to get drunk he never would've even _talked_ to him in the first place.

They fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts and all three wondering how soon Udyr would be able to sleep off the alcohol as he snored in their ears.  Absolute, crushing boredom was just beginning to set in when Udyr began to mutter in his sleep.

“ _Karma ths tea is wun'erful…_ ” the compliment ended in another snore as Udyr’s dream continued.

“Yeah we _wish_ you only had tea,” Olaf grumbled.

“ _Sh't up you wrn invited…_ ”

The reply took the group by surprise.  They waited to see if Udyr would say more, but he only continued to mumble incoherently while no one spoke to him.  

Olaf twitched his beard to and fro as he considered an idea that had just popped into his head.  “Hey, he listens to this Karma lady, right?” he asked, glancing side to side at his two fellow captives.

Silence fell again as the two thought it over.  “Yeah, she’s one of the few people he actually respects,” Twisted Fate offered, recalling that he'd seen Karma get Udyr to back down on several different occasions.

“Yeah, that’s right…” Graves raised his head and looked at Olaf.  “So what's the plan?”

“Well he thinks he's talking to Karma, right?  So maybe if one of us pretends to be Karma, we could get him to let go,” Olaf glanced at the other two, but there were no takers.  “Well fine, I'll try it then,” he looked fairly miffed that no one else wanted to attempt his brilliant plan.  Olaf then cleared his voice and did his best Karma impression, which was merely a gravelly, slightly higher-pitched version of his own voice, “It’s such a lovely day isn’t it, Udyr?  I think you should—ghuuuurk!”

Udyr was apparently displeased with this horrible failure of a Karma impression and was trying to get rid of its source.

Olaf gasped, trying to catch his breath.  "I don't think he likes it, one of you should try," he started coughing after finishing the sentence, as Udyr's squeeze was quite painful to his ribs.

Graves made his choice on who would do it without skipping a beat.  “Fate’s gotta do it, he has the girlier voice!”

“Shut the hell up, Graves!” Twisted Fate snapped, shooting a venomous glare from around Olaf's beard.

Twisted Fate's outburst was met with a hard squeeze on the three by Udyr, which drew a pained moan out of the group.  Fate swore he felt a few of his ribs shift out of place from the pressure.  He didn’t know why _he_ had to be the one humiliating himself, it was _their_ fault...

_The three of them were enjoying their drinks at the bar, Twisted Fate and Graves taking verbal stabs at each other every few minutes during their conversation with Olaf, when Udyr wandered in.  The Animal Spirit seemed a bit lost, since a bar was the last place he usually wanted to go and the last place people usually wanted him.  Whatever the reason, it did not bode well for the three drinkers and their night of laid-back conversation.  Udyr spotted Olaf and walked over, subtle body language stating that he was itching for a fight._

_Olaf grinned when he recognized Udyr, and his intent, and finished the rest of his beer in one gulp.  The grin widened when he noticed the disgusted face Udyr made at the sight of him drinking it.  “What’s the matter, Udyr?  Can’t even enjoy a nice drink?” he slammed the tankard down on the bar to punctuate his point._

_Graves chuckled from where he leaned against the bar.  “Good one, we all know he can't even take a sip of a_ _**real** _ _man's drink,” his head was buzzing slightly from the beer, and he found it entertaining to have a laugh at Udyr’s expense._

“ _What,” Udyr set his eyes on Graves, and the beer tankard the Outlaw was waving around._

“ _Look, Udyr,” Graves continued. “We_ _**all** _ _know y've got the tolerance of ‘n adorable liddle baby."_

“ _We can drink more than a sip,” Udyr took a step forward, apparently willing to prove that he was, indeed, the most manly of men by drinking the nasty beer stuff himself._

“ _It’s alright, Udyr! It’s just, some men are more manly than others,” Graves said with a careless shrug._

“ _Malcolm,_ _**shut up** _ _,” Twisted Fate snapped.  He wasn’t eager to have Udyr try that “Gambler Stance” nonsense with him again.  It was painful enough the first time it happened._

“ _No_ _**you** _ _shut up,” Graves jabbed Twisted Fate in the stomach and shoved him away.  “I’ll say what I like.”_

_Twisted Fate gasped and doubled over from the blow, but kept talking.  “You won’t like Udyr drunk,” he managed._

“ _What? He won’t do_ —”

_Udyr grabbed Graves’s mug of beer and took a large gulp.  Twisted Fate slapped a palm to his face, nearly knocking his own hat off in the process._

“I don’t get why _I_ gotta make a fool ‘a myself when it was _your_ fault,” Twisted Fate snapped, renewed in his determination not to demean himself by sweet-talking Udyr.

“Well I guess we’re stuck here, then,” Graves crossed one leg over the other and looked away, trying to get comfortable since they wouldn’t be moving anytime soon.

It took a few minutes for Twisted Fate to decide that being stuck with Udyr was not something he wanted to endure for a full night, or however long it took for someone to happen along who could actually help, rather than make the problem worse.  “Uugh, _fine_ ,” Twisted Fate grumbled, swearing to himself that he would get back at Graves on a later date, both for helping get Udyr drunk _and_ for suggesting that his voice was girly in any way.  He cleared his throat and coughed twice, hoping in vain that something might happen to save them.  When nothing happened, he let out an annoyed sigh as his face colored slightly from embarrassment and did his best to copy Karma's voice, an attempt that was markedly better than anything Olaf could do, “Udyr, aren't you tired from holding that for so long?  Why don't you put it down so we can enjoy this tea better?”

“ _Srr, Karma…_ ” Udyr slurred, and his arms relaxed just enough for the three to make their escape.  

Twisted Fate was just about to get clear of Udyr when the man's hand shot out and grabbed the Card Master by the forearm.  He let out a surprised yelp as Udyr yanked him back into his muscled, bristly embrace.  “No, no, no, NO!” Fate yelled as he tried to squirm free, long legs flailing about as he tried to break Udyr's grip on his arms and chest, but to no avail.

The struggle was met with a loud guffaw from Graves and a laugh from Olaf.  

“Funniest thing I seen all week!” Graves chortled.

“ _Dun go Karma I though' y wn'ed tea…_ ” Udyr purred in Twisted Fate's ear, which sent a chill of horror down the Card Master’s spine.

An expression of absolute terror came over Twisted Fate's face as Udyr's mouth drifted closer.  “Don't leave me here!  Please!” he implored, casting pleading eyes upon Olaf and Graves.

“Sorry Fate,” Graves said in a tone that clearly stated that he was not, in fact, sorry in any way.  “Maybe if ya hadn’t betrayed me back then, I’d help ya out.”

Twisted Fate scowled at Graves and looked to Olaf instead.  

Olaf held his hands up in fake apology, “Sorry, I’m not gonna let myself get caught again so good luck with that!”

“You gotta be kiddin’ me!” Fate jerked himself upward, trying to use his thin body to slip loose, but the movement only made Udyr hold him tighter.  He paled and broke out in a cold sweat when Udyr put his free hand on his face and ran his fingers along his beard.

“ _Dun’ rm’mbur y’ bein’ ths hairy..._ ” Udyr mumbled, his eyebrows drawing downward over his closed eyes to give him a more troubled look.

Twisted Fate whimpered, completely unhappy with the sheer number of creeps Udyr was giving him.  The sound of laughter came from just over Udyr’s shoulder where Olaf and Graves had moved off to, and he would have shot a heated glare their way had his face not been in Udyr’s hand.  His boots dug up chunks of grass and dirt as he struggled to get free again.

Udyr’s fingers moved up to Twisted Fate’s nose.  “‘ _r y’r nose bein’ ths big..._ ” he paused for a few moments as his inebriated mind tried to work things out.  Then he smiled, much to Twisted Fate’s growing fear.  “ _Dun’ wrry, we ‘ccept y’ ‘nyway..._ ”

That got a shudder out of Twisted Fate, who tried to lean as far away from Udyr’s face as possible in case the Animal Spirit tried anything...  Unpleasant.  For Twisted Fate, anyway.  Udyr would be completely fine with it since he thought it was Karma in his arms.  Since he was unable to escape, Fate screwed his eyes shut and waited for the inevitable humiliation that would come of Udyr’s drunkenness.  Graves wouldn’t let him hear the end of _this_ for months.

“ _Why y’ wr’in’ ths hat, Karma?  Y’look bttr wthout one,_ ” in one swift movement, Udyr swatted the hat right off of Twisted Fate’s head, with enough force to launch it several yards away where it landed on the grass with a quiet _thop_.

Meanwhile, several dozen yards away, the Weeping Darkness Poetry Club was holding their usual Wednesday night session.  Hecarim currently had the stage and had only gotten through the first half of the sixth of _twenty_ books of his ballad about himself and Irelia:

“ _War wavers; Love flutters:  the conquered rise again,_

_and those you'd think could never fall, lie low cause you stabbed them so well._

_So those who like to say that love is sluggish_

_should shut up: If you don't I will impale you._

_Sad me burns for his flower, his lost darling:_

_Cavalry, smash the Ionian's power while you may!_

_Crush them under hoof so long as she notices you!_

_She! Her! Alas and woe! Woe and alas is me!”_

Those in Hecarim’s current audience included Talon, Zed, Malzahar, Rumble, and Syndra, the last of which had invited herself because she was bored.  Singed was minding the bar near the back of the auditorium, busily _not_ listening to Hecarim and instead wondering just how many voidling eggs Malzahar put in the “Purpavalanche” he’d given Zed a few minutes ago.  It was Malzahar’s special, usually something no one ever asked for unless they grew so tired of the current poet that they were willing to lose their minds for a few blissful hours.  Zed was currently face-down on the table he sat at due to how smashed he was from the drink, though he would occasionally sit bolt-upright and spout some nonsense like the fact that he was “tasting purple” or “hearing black”, whatever _that_ meant.  The poetry was bad, but Singed was always thoroughly amused by whatever wretched concoctions Malzahar came up with while waiting for his turn on the stage, and he usually made good money off the patrons who attended.

Singed glanced at the northern wall, which bordered the hallway beyond, when he heard a loud booming noise that caused the entire auditorium to shudder.  “Anyone else hear that?” he lifted a glass to clean and narrowed his eyes at the door of the wall that had been shaken.

Talon left off scowling intensely at Hecarim for taking up all the reading time and looked up upon hearing Singed’s question.  “Yeah.  Sounded like something hit the wall,” a bad feeling settled into the pit of his stomach, and he tucked his black leatherbound poetry book away in a hidden pocket just in case.  He probably wouldn't be able to read any of his poems to the club now anyway at the slow rate Hecarim was going.  Another disappointing night thanks to that stupid lovesick undead centaur.

The thunderous tremors continued, culminating in an explosion as something was hurled through the wall next to the stage.  Udyr's unconscious body knocked Hecarim flying, which thankfully brought the reading of his ballad to an abrupt end.  This got a drunken cheer from Zed, who still wasn't quite sure what was going on, while his fellow audience members got to their feet to see what was lurking on the other side of the wall.

Another explosion shook the auditorium, and something on the far side of the rubble-filled hole knocked two men flying into the room.  Olaf landed on Malzahar, who hadn't been fast enough to get out of the berserker's landing area.  Graves landed on Syndra's table with a loud _whomp_.

“Minion!” Syndra cried, both shocked and a bit pleased to see that Graves had seemingly gravitated toward her while soaring through the air.

“Dammit!” Graves scowled up at Syndra and struggled to sit up.  That last attack left him in pretty rough shape and _now_ that stupid Syndra chick was here, this evening was just getting worse and worse.

Before Syndra could make any annoying demands of Graves—such as asking that he make her a sandwich—she was startled as the building shook again and grabbed Graves to hold in front of herself.  “Save me, minion!”

“Save you!?  How 'bout savin' _me_!?” Graves spluttered, not at all eager to be on the receiving end of such brutality again.

“You’re my minion, it’s your _job_ to protect me!”

“So is this a new thing with him?” Olaf got to his feet and swatted away the voidling that was trying to eat his nose in retaliation for landing on Malzahar.  “The whole goes-berserk-when-hat-gets-knocked-off thing?”

“Yeah it’s new,” Graves tried to edge away from Syndra, only to find that the Dark Sovereign had a firm grip on his arm.  

The dust from the demolished wall began to settle, revealing a very angry hatless Twisted Fate as he stood blocking the hole.  Most of the champions present knew from experience that Twisted Fate was extremely dangerous in this state, but Syndra let out a quiet chuckle as she rose from the table and floated toward him.  

“That's just the shrimpy card games guy, he's not scary,” she conjured a sphere of dark purple energy between her palms as she cast a pitying glance over her shoulder.  “Silly minion.”

“Yeah have at it, I'm outta here,” Graves mumbled, too eager to escape to get mad over Syndra looking down on him again.  He scrambled toward the edge of the table as Syndra prepared to attack.

It was easy to aim with Twisted Fate just standing there in the hole.  He made a wonderfully easy target, since his attention was apparently elsewhere, in the direction Udyr had been thrown earlier.  Syndra used this distraction to her advantage and hurled the ball of energy at Twisted Fate with a short laugh.

The ball should've knocked Twisted Fate flying.  Should have.  His head snapped around at the sound of Syndra's laugh and—much to the shock of Syndra and everyone else in the room—he caught the sphere in his hands.  Its momentum pushed him back a few feet, but he remained standing, ball of purple energy clenched tightly in front of him.  With a near-silent growl he pulled back, energy ball in one hand now, and hurled it at Syndra's head.

Syndra shrieked and dove to the floor, narrowly avoiding being pegged in the face by one of her own magical spheres.  She looked up to find that Twisted Fate was now stomping toward her and began to panic.

“Minion!” she shrieked.

“Don’t you dare!” Graves yelled as Syndra’s purple magic enveloped his body.

“Save meeee!” Syndra hurled Graves at the approaching enemy.

“DAMN YOU SYNDRA!” Graves watched as Twisted Fate pulled back a fist to punch him out of the air and braced himself for impact.  The fist hit him in the gut and launched him through the hole in the wall that Syndra’s sphere had created.

Syndra's face paled as she realized that she'd just thrown her one and only minion away.  They were so hard to come by, too.  “Minion noooo!” Syndra howled.  She whirled and sped after Graves, hoping to catch him before he slammed into any more solid objects.

Zed's head snapped up again, and this time he spotted Twisted Fate, who was still advancing on the group.  “D’n worry guysh I got dis,” he slurred, then disappeared in a burst of shadow and reappeared directly before Twisted Fate.  The ninja made a drunken swipe at Fate, missed, spun around in a full circle from the momentum of his swing, and managed to stay on his feet when he came to a stop.

Twisted Fate snarled, completely unamused by Zed’s antics, and backhanded him into the nearest table.  

The force of the blow made the table snap in two when Zed landed on it.  He remained motionless for a few seconds, then twitched as he regained consciousness.  “What happened?  I blacked out during book one,” he coughed, and something rattled around behind his face guard.  Zed turned over to hide his face as he grappled with whatever had gotten under his mask, and finally came up with a small chittering voidling.  “The hell?!” his head immediately turned toward Malzahar.  “What the hell did you put in my drink Malzahar?”

Malzahar had gotten out from under Olaf by this time and floated a few feet above the ground, legs folded tailor style and arms crossed over his chest.  “Just a couple dozen voidling eggs, it's not like they're bad for you,” he shrugged as he spoke, trying to split his attention between Zed, who might attack him for the insult, and Twisted Fate, who had again stopped moving but would certainly attack him sooner or later.

“How dare you make me a nursery for your creepy little pets!” Zed surged forward and caught Malzahar's scarf in one hand.  “You claim the Void is so terrifying, but I’ll show you _real_ terror,” he growled, arm-mounted blade edging dangerously close to Malzahar's face.

“Seen it,” Malzahar stated, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Twisted Fate was again looking toward where Hecarim would be.  Hopefully the Card Master would stomp off in that direction rather than trashing everyone else in the room, as long as Hecarim didn't run away like a little pansy first.

“Scarier than your stupid pets!” Zed snapped.

“I know.  I mean that,” Malzahar pointed at Twisted Fate, who had spotted something moving on the far side of the hole in the wall and was fixating on it.

Zed glanced at Twisted Fate, then did a double take when he realized that the Card Master's hat was missing.  He released Malzahar and took a few steps back, “Whoa look at the time I have to be somewhere!”  Zed began a quick incantation that would get him out of the building, and paused to point at Malzahar when it was almost finished, “This isn't over, by the way.  I _will_ get you for this!”  That said, Zed disappeared in a burst of shadow.

At that very moment Hecarim burst out of the wreckage.  A bucket had been crammed onto his head in the crash, its bottom ruptured by the top blade of his helmet, which stuck through the broken metal in quite a ridiculous fashion.  On top of his lack of vision as he charged blindly forward, Hecarim was also holding his halberd backwards as he advanced on Twisted Fate.

The Card Master widened his stance and caught the handle of the halberd in his hands, sliding back a full foot before he brought Hecarim's advance to a sudden halt.  Hecarim was only given enough time to realize that he'd run into trouble before Twisted Fate started swinging him around.

“Aaaaah what is this?!” Hecarim cried, his voice given an extra echo by the bucket on his head.  He still clung to his halberd despite the fact that it was what connected him to whatever was causing him trouble, and after several full circles the bucket finally flew off his head.  The Shadow of War gaped in horror at what was on the end of his halberd, “Not you again!”

Twisted Fate replied by completing one last rotation and finally letting go of the halberd, which sent Hecarim careening into the poetry meet’s audience.

Singed stepped forward, riot shield strapped to his arm once again, and put himself in the path of the oncoming centaur.  In one smooth motion, he caught Hecarim on the shield and flipped the Shadow of War up and into the wall behind them.

Hecarim hit the wall with a loud crash and stuck there, momentarily held in place by the indentation shaped like his body.  After a few moments, he slipped downward and fell to the ground head-first in a cloud of dust and pale blue ectoplasm, his helmet punching a jagged hole in the floorboards.  After a brief attempt at pulling his head out of the floor, Hecarim chose to keep still on the off chance that Twisted Fate might ignore him if he fooled him into thinking he was dead.

Singed ignored Hecarim and kept his eye on Twisted Fate, who was even now moving toward the group.  Those still remaining had gathered behind Singed, that being the safest place to hide at the moment.  The Mad Chemist wasn’t particularly worried; all he had to do was keep the shield between himself and Twisted Fate, and he would be able to deflect any attack the Card Master would be able to throw at him.

Twisted Fate fixed his eyes on Singed and the people hiding behind him, then surged forward in a blur of motion.

The Mad Chemist let out a short laugh and timed Twisted Fate's advance perfectly, bringing the shield up to fling his attacker into the wall behind him at just the right moment.

Except there was no crash following his throw.  That was the first odd thing.  And on top of that, Singed's shield felt unusually...  Heavy...

One glance at Twisted Fate glaring at him through the small window in the riot shield, and Singed knew he'd made a vital miscalculation.  “Ah,” the Mad Chemist said.

* * *

“And then Ezreal kicked me out of the museum!” Vi walked apace with Caitlyn as she told her partner the details of her day off, whether Caitlyn wanted to hear them or not.

“He had every reason to,” Caitlyn replied, closing her eyes in order to hide the fact that she was rolling them at Vi.  “Why were you even at the museum to begin with?  You don't seem like the museum-visiting type.”

“Well not _usually_ ,” Vi replied.  “But come on, who’s gonna miss out on that kickass dinosaur exhibit, am I right?  It's the talk of the town, even people from other city-states are going there just...  To…” Vi and Caitlyn slowly came to a halt before the scene of mayhem that lay before them.

The normally pristine mountain park that held the Institute's recreational facilities was an absolute mess, with several buildings barely standing or collapsed entirely, large scrapes and craters littering the lawns, and uprooted trees tossed about like toy logs.  On closer inspection of one of the buildings, Caitlyn could just pick out the shape of two blue hooves against the darker rubble and the shape of a large body beneath.

“Hohleee shit,” Vi half-chuckled as she took the scene in.  “Glad I’m not the mook who’s payin' fer _this_!”

“Indeed, I’m glad our police department hasn't had to pay for damages like this, _yet_ ,” Caitlyn grumbled.

“Sh-Sheriff Caitlyn!” a winded summoner stumbled over to the two from the far side of the field of carnage.  He paused a moment to catch his breath, then continued as best he could.  “Udyr, knocked off,” here he made a swatting motion to go along with the story, “Twisted Fate's hat, we haven't been able to stop him.”

“So why in the bloody hell have you not put the hat back on his head yet?” Caitlyn snapped, annoyed that she'd been called over on such short notice for a problem that should have been trivial for any other League member to accomplish.

“Be…  Because,” the summoner paused for another panting fit.  “Udyr ate it, and Twisted Fate rejected every other hat we tried to put on him!”

At that very moment something very large and solid slammed into the lawn before the trio, throwing up a shower of dirt and grass clumps.  It wasn't hard to recognize Udyr even behind all the bumps and bruises he'd received during the fight, which had apparently all taken place while the Animal Spirit was asleep, judging from the loud snore that floated up to them now that he'd come to rest.

Caitlyn stared down at Udyr for a few moments, then her head snapped up to watch for what would surely be after him.  “I see,” she began to undo the straps on her back-mounted rifle holster.  “Care to see my hat trick, Vi?”

“Do I?” Vi grinned.  “Do my fists smash major criminal face?” she slammed one metallic fist into another to punctuate her point.

“Right,” Caitlyn swung the rifle and holster off of her shoulder as a pile of fallen trees on the far side of the park exploded from something striking it at high speed.  “This is definitely one you haven't seen, so do pay attention.”

As Caitlyn anticipated, Twisted Fate burst through the pile of logs and briefly searched for Udyr before finding the Animal Spirit in his crater and rushing toward him.  

Caitlyn dropped her rifle and holster to the ground and put a hand on her hat.

“Cupcake!” Vi stared down at the rifle in shock and then looked back up at Caitlyn.  “ _What are you doing?!_ ”

“Just watch,” Caitlyn removed her hat and got into position between Twisted Fate and Udyr.

At exactly the right moment, just as Twisted Fate was about to pass her, Caitlyn thumped her own hat onto his head.  She managed to let go before the momentum could carry her along with Twisted Fate, though it did cause her to pirouette on the spot a few times.

Twisted Fate went limp as the hat was put onto his head, and he toppled head over heels into the crater to land on top of Udyr, Caitlyn's hat still miraculously attached to his head.

“Well, that's done,” Caitlyn put her hands to her hips and looked down into the crater.  “Are you _quite_ finished now, Fate?”

A pained groan was all she got in reply as Twisted Fate regained consciousness.

Vi burst into loud laughter.  “A literal hat trick!” she chortled as she slid down the side of the crater to stand next to Twisted Fate.  “So how's it hangin’, _Stretch_?” Vi asked, using her annoying nickname for Twisted Fate as she leaned in close to his face.

“Stop calling me that,” Twisted Fate grumbled, feeling too tired to actually snap at Vi.  He attempted to get up and failed as Caitlyn joined them at the bottom of the crater.  “It hurts to exist,” he said finally, after trying to get up again.

Caitlyn stepped forward and dragged Twisted Fate over to the side of the crater where he might be more comfortable.  “So why _did_ Udyr knock your hat off?”

“He got drunk,” Twisted Fate scowled at Udyr, who was still snoring away while everyone else moved around him.  “Because _Graves_ insulted his manhood for not bein’ able to take alcohol,” he added, rolling his eyes in annoyance when he said the word “Graves”.

“That's good,” Caitlyn took Twisted Fate by the back of his coat collar and began to drag him out of the crater.  “At least you won't be paying for the damages,” she glanced over at Vi.  “Could you be a dear and bring my rifle over, Vi?”

Vi paused, having been caught in the act of tying knots in Udyr's beard.  “Sure thing, Cupadupcake!” she straightened and threw Caitlyn a mock salute before scaling the side of the crater herself.  The rifle and its holster were just where they'd been left earlier, and Vi scooped them up and tossed them to Caitlyn in one smooth movement.

“ _Bring_ ,” Caitlyn nagged as she caught the rifle in one hand.  “I said _bring_ , not _throw_.”

“Yeah yeah,” Vi flapped a hand at Caitlyn.  “You still got it, right?”

“And don't pester Udyr anymore,” Caitlyn added as Vi's attention returned to the prone body of the Animal Spirit.  “He’s not going to be happy when he wakes up, so I suggest you drop whatever other pranks you're considering for him.”

Vi let out a loud sigh of annoyance.  “Fine fine, I’ll leave the big hairy beastie alone,” she turned and cast a sidelong glance at the ruined rec hall, “I’ll just see about digging Hecarim out, heh heh.”  The Enforcer threw Caitlyn and Twisted Fate a short wave as she began to sidle around the crater, “Later Cupcake, see ya Stretch!”

“I hate that name,” Twisted Fate growled as Caitlyn continued to drag him off.

“It's better than Cupcake,” Caitlyn quipped.

“So...  Where are you taking me?”

“To a doctor,” Caitlyn replied.

Twisted Fate choked on the very air he was breathing and would have run if he weren't still unable to move.  One experience with Dr. Rath had been more than enough to make him irrationally afraid of all doctors for the rest of his life.  “I’m fine I don't need to see a doctor!”

“Yes, you do,” Caitlyn continued to drag Twisted Fate in the general direction of the Institute's clinic, in spite of his pleas.  “You need to be treated, and you need to realize that not all doctors are insane and evil and get over that fear of yours.”

Twisted Fate was about to reply when Caitlyn stopped.

“Sheriff Caitlyn,” Karma gave Caitlyn a warm smile as she paused before the markswoman and leaned to her right to get a look at Twisted Fate.  “I see that you have Twisted Fate under control.”

“Yes, they’ve apparently been fighting all night so I’m taking Fate to see a doctor now.  Udyr is in that crater over there,” Caitlyn pointed at the area in question with her rifle hand, careful to keep a hold on Twisted Fate just in case he mustered the strength to try to escape the doctor visit.

“Hey Karma…” Twisted Fate half-raised a hand in greeting and allowed it to flop back to the ground, obviously not happy about having to go see a doctor after the horrible night he’d had.

“I am sorry for the trouble,” Karma strode gracefully around Caitlyn to have a proper look at Twisted Fate.  She gave him a brief examination as Caitlyn took a step back, and focused her power.

Twisted Fate shot up to his feet the moment Karma's magic healed him, a massive grin of relief on his face.  “Yes!  No doctor visit for me!” almost immediately after he finished the sentence, his eyes rolled back in his head and he tipped back and fell to the ground with a loud thud.

“His wounds are healed, but getting the spent energy back is up to him,” Karma got to her feet and gave Caitlyn a nod of farewell before making her way to the crater.

Udyr was still snoring at the bottom of the crater when Karma reached the rim.  “Udyr,” she said simply.

“Gnrl...  Go away...  Our head hurts…” Udyr grumbled, having instantly awoken at the sound of Karma's voice.

“You missed tea this morning.”

This statement brought Udyr to his feet almost instantly.  “What happened?”

“From what I heard, you knocked Twisted Fate's hat off and the two of you have been fighting all night.”

“It must have been a tremendous battle,” Udyr climbed to the top of the crater and set his arms on the rim.  “We wish we had been conscious to fight it.”

“Conscious or not, they are going to make you pay for the damages,” Karma looked out across the ruined park just in time to spot Vi jumping into the pile of wreckage that covered Hecarim.  The force of her landing hit an angled board that sent Hecarim flying out of the debris to land flat on his face around ten feet away, his halberd embedding itself in the grass just beyond his reach.  “Come along, I will help you get cleaned up for the hearing.”

Udyr growled and grumbled to himself as he got to his feet.

Hecarim's legs twitched, and he sprung to his feet a moment later as he scanned the surrounding parkland for any sign of Twisted Fate.  He breathed an ethereal sigh of relief when he saw Twisted Fate, purple top hat sitting firmly on his head, being dragged out of the park by Caitlyn.  

A loud crash from the destroyed rec hall made Hecarim jump, and he looked back to see that Vi was now removing Singed from the wreckage as well, using his riot shield to lever the debris off of him.  “Worst poetry night ever,” Hecarim grumbled as he pulled his halberd from the grass and looked toward the park entrance.  His glowing blue eyes settled on Karma and Udyr for a moment, and his face lit up when he realized who he was looking at.  

“Gyaa, ah,” Hecarim cast about for Karma’s name, since he’d gotten a punch to the face from Udyr the last time he got it wrong.  “Kar...  Karma!” Hecarim dashed forward as soon as he remembered Karma’s name, eager to talk to her before she and Udyr managed to leave.  “Karma wai—aah!” in the few moments since he saw Karma, Hecarim had forgotten about the large crater that lay between them.  A loud clang rang out as Hecarim connected with its floor.

In spite of her better judgement, Karma waited for Hecarim to scamper up the side of the crater so he could talk to her.

“Karma!” Hecarim finally got to the rim of the crater, only to face Udyr once he got to the top.  “What?  I’m using her name!”

“ _Lady_ Karma,” Udyr snarled.

Hecarim knew better than to try arguing with Udyr and did as he said.  “Lady Karma, have you seen Irelia at all?  Is she here?” he cast his eyes about the park once more, just in case Irelia had wandered into it while he wasn’t looking.

“Ah, no.  She is still in Ionia,” Karma debated on whether or not she should tell Hecarim more, and decided against it.  Hecarim had already been banned from entering Ionia on pain of being used by the amateur summoners, there was no need to entice him into trying to sneak in.  “But I am sure you will see her around the Institute sometime.”

“That just gives me time to prepare my next ballad for her!” Hecarim hauled himself out of the crater, careful to avoid Udyr, and galloped off to attend to his own business.

Udyr glared after Hecarim for a few moments, then shook his head slightly as if there were a small insect bothering him.  He lifted a hand to his mouth and removed one long black hair from his teeth.  “Where did _this_ come from?” he tossed the hair away with a grunt and followed Karma out of the park.  A warm bubbly feeling welled up inside as he watched Karma walk ahead of him, and suddenly he felt mad all over again as he shoved it back down.  It still came back after all that.  Udyr decided that he would have to find someone else to vent his frustration on, preferably far away from alcohol next time.

 


	6. Kha'zix and Bunny Ears

Riven shifted uncomfortably in her skimpy bunny outfit as she stopped at the minion wave of top lane.  She would be warmer when she started fighting, but at the moment she felt downright chilly.  “Stupid friggen pervert summoners...” she grumbled as she cut a blue minion in half.  “Never should’ve taken that bet...”

The Exile continued grumbling about the idiotic design of her current outfit and the people who got her to wear it as she farmed the minions.  And she was  _ still _ feeling chilly, how annoying.  

As she drew near the river bush she suddenly became aware of an intense heat on her skin, as if she were standing next to a large fire.  “What the...  It’s like someone is staring at me with the jealous intensity of a thousand suns!” she halted just beyond the river and retreated back to her turret, since she continued to feel the creepy, jealous heat no matter where she was in the middle part of the lane.

Kha’zix glared after Riven from his hiding place in the bush.  No fair, how come Riven got to wear bunny ears?  She wasn’t even an animal or anything!   _ Curse you Riven, you’re so lucky...  How I hate you!  Those ears are so nice, so sleek and floppy, the thread count must be insane... _ He only stopped in his glaring when something barged into him from behind.

“Ugh!” Rengar reeled back in surprise and annoyance.  “Kha’zix, get your butt back to the middle lane already!  What’s the holdup?”

“ _ Riven _ ,” Kha’zix seethed.  “She gets to have bunny ears!”

Rengar’s face went blank as his brain tried to process the ridiculousness of what Kha’zix was implying.  He almost failed.  “Wha?  Since when are rabbit ears a good thing?  I mean, besides the better hearing—though  _ still _ not as good as mine and why am I still talking about this?!” he jabbed an accusing finger at Kha’zix’s chest carapace, displeased about having to deal with his archenemy  _ at all _ .   “What’s wrong with you?  Are you doing this cause we’re on the same team?” 

“You mean you don’t remember?” Kha’zix wailed.  “I had bunny ears the very first time we met!”

“No you didn’t,” Rengar gave Kha’zix a look that made it clear he was currently questioning the Void creature’s sanity.  “You looked almost exactly like you do now when we first met,” he paused as a memory struck him.  “Wait...”

Rengar cast his thoughts back, to the time before he engaged in epic combat with Kha’zix and nearly died in the process.  It was glorious, he was at the peak of his game, muscles rippling, coat sleek and shining, but now wasn’t the time to remember that.  It had been a sunny day in his jungle, he was patrolling the outer rim of his hunting territory when he came across...

The Pridestalker stared at the odd creature before him, which stared back with intense curiosity.  Rengar scowled and squinted his eyes at the thing, which looked like a freakish bipedal rabbit.  “Damn furries...” he grumbled.  “Get the hell outta my territory, and don’t you  _ dare _ even try to snuggle me, you creep!”

“Snuggle?” the creature tilted its head in genuine puzzlement, an action which somehow made it look less cute and even more...  Creepy.  “What’s a snuggle?”

Rengar tripped mentally over the unexpected question.  “I...  What?  You don’t know what that is?  Just what kind of furry  _ are _ you?”

“What’s a furry?”

“What's a f—” Rengar spluttered as started to shove the odd furry intruder toward the edge of his territory.  “Just get the hell out of here!”

Rengar returned to the present with a jolt and gave Kha’zix a look of utmost disgust.  “Uugh, that was  _ you _ ?” the hunter pointed an accusatory claw at Kha'zix, who didn't seem terribly bothered by the idea.

“Yeah, I miss those bunny ears...” Kha’zix stared wistfully into empty space as he recalled the wonderful fluffy ears he used to have.  

“Whatcha talkin’ about?”

The two looked down at the knee-height origin of the voice, and found that Teemo had managed to slip in between them without their noticing.  Rengar’s nostrils flared in annoyance; he didn’t enjoy being snuck up on by something as ridiculous-looking as a yordle.  This one gave off especially...   _ Unnerving _ vibes so he held his tongue for the moment, and wished for the dozenth time that match that  _ he  _ had been allowed to pick his team mates instead of those idiot summoners.

“Riven gets to have bunny ears and I don’t!” Kha’zix waved a claw at the top lane as he whined to Teemo, happy to have a new set of ears to vent his frustration to.  Riven was back to farming again, probably believing it to be safe now that she could no longer feel the heat of Kha’zix’s jealous gaze.

Rengar rolled his eyes at the ridiculousness of it all, then heeded his summoner’s urging and returned to the jungle.  At least there would be more peace and quiet without Kha’zix whining at him there.

“You want bunny ears?” Teemo’s furry face scrunched up in confusion for a moment as he squinted up at Kha’zix.  “Why’s that?”

“Because I used to have them, and I liked them a lot,” Kha’zix bounced up and down in excitement as he spoke, like a child recalling the first time they tasted ice cream.  “But now I don’t and sometimes I miss them a lot,” he said sadly, carapace clicking as his limbs and wings drooped with his mood.

“Oh,” Teemo’s face relaxed; seemed logical enough to him, even scary bug creatures like Kha’zix tended to have their silly quirks.  Like the fact that all Void creatures seemed to crave pie no matter what flavor it was, which was useful when you were trying to distract them but still weird all the same.  Maybe it was the crust they liked most, crust was pretty tasty after all...  “I can help you get some if you can do something for me first.”

“Really?!” Kha’zix perked up immediately at the prospect.

“Yeah, just meet me after the match.  I’ll give you more details then,” that said, Teemo sprinted away and was soon lost from Kha’zix’s view.  

* * *

The lobby filled with champions and summoners once the match had ended, and Kha'zix eagerly searched around for Teemo.  He finally spotted the yordle beneath one of the complimentary food tables and hurried over before anyone could get in the way, even ignoring the pie that sat so enticingly in front of the other food.

“Hi Teemo,” Kha’zix scooted under the table as best he could, considering his size.

“So you're sure you want the ears?” Teemo asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

“Yeah,” Kha'zix whispered back.  “Why are we whispering?”

“You’ll get looked down on if you actually want bunny ears,” Teemo replied as he prepared to move out from under the table.  “Follow me, I'll bring you up to speed while we locate for our target.”

“Okay,” the table lurched as Kha’zix squeezed out from under it and followed Teemo.  He paused about halfway to the door and stared longingly back at the pie.  There was definitely enough time to dash back and take it with him, no need to just leave it there for someone else to eat.  The Voidreaver lunged back toward the table and grabbed the pie just as Kassadin, who he’d faced in the same lane that match, was reaching for it.  An unsure smile spread across Kha’zix’s face as he stared up at Kassadin’s mask—you could never really tell what Kassadin was thinking behind that mask, and to be honest the human really freaked Kha’zix out a lot of the time.

The din of Kassadin’s breathing filled the silence between them as Kha’zix tried to think of something to say.  Finally he realized that Teemo might be leaving without him and simply settled for running off with the pie without a word and hoping that Kassadin wouldn’t come after him for it.  Luckily Teemo had realized that his companion had been sidetracked by pie and was waiting patiently by the door, small arms crossed over his furry chest.

“There was pie.  Sorry,” Kha’zix said quickly, casting a worried glance behind him to check if Kassadin was there.  Much to his relief, Kassadin didn’t seem terribly bothered by the loss of the pie and was still considering some of the other foods at the table.

“So is it just pie or do you guys like tarts and stuff like that, too?” Teemo asked, still musing over the mystery of the Void creatures’ love of pie.  He didn’t really expect Kha’zix to answer and started walking down the hall.

“What’s a tart?” Kha’zix tilted his head to one side as he asked this, then finally gave in to temptation and took a huge bite out of the center of the pie.  It had an apple filling, and the crust was crisp and flakey too, even directly below the filling.

“Oh it’s kinda...” Teemo scratched the side of his head as he tried to recall what made pies different from tarts.  He spun and began walking backwards so he could talk to Kha’zix face to pie-covered face.  “I think they’re like, usually shorter than pies,” he held his hands one over the other to illustrate the shallowness of a tart for Kha’zix, who listened and watched with intense interest as he followed Teemo.  “And I think the crusts are usually more crumbly...?” he put his hands on his hips as he continued to march backwards, trying to remember more details.  “You can probably put in a special request for the Institute cooks to make some for you, or maybe ask Caitlyn about it.  She’s really good at baking and stuff,” he said finally, having given up trying to educate Kha’zix on the intricacies of pies versus tarts.

“Thanks Teemo, you’re so smart!” Kha’zix said after finishing another mouthful of pie.  The outing was going even better than he expected so far: not only was he going to get his bunny ears, Teemo had also given him useful information on pies and tarts, which he would be sure to try later.

“Yeah, anyway,” Teemo spun around to the front again and picked up the pace.  “About that thing I need you to do...”

* * *

“You want me to kick Hecarim as hard as I can?” Kha’zix asked as the two spied on the spectral centaur from the cover of a large bush.

“As hard as you can,” was Teemo’s grim reply.

“Why?  What’d he do?”

“ He made me proofread his wretched love poetry hundreds of times,” Teemo’s fur began to stand on end, a result of his intense anger upon recalling the memory rather than fear.  “It was horrible!  Some of the worst crap I’ve ever had to sit through, and I’m  _ still _ having nightmares because of it!”

As if to prove Teemo’s point, the wind changed—perhaps trying to flee Hecarim’s terrible work in another direction—and carried several verses of said horrible poetry to their ears:

“ _ I beg you, if it’s not too much trouble, _

_ point out where your love might be. _

_ You, little Irelia, I’ve looked for you, _

_ you, on the fields of slaughter, you, in the coldest ribcage of a corpse, _

_ you, in the sacred shrine of the giant spider thingy Elise talks to _

_ I’ve detained all the girls together _

_ and set a line to Thresh's lantern, my darling, _

_ whose faces were blank, however. _

‘ _We know not who this Irelia is!’, they screamed in protest,_

_ so I demanded of them. _

_ One replied, bearing her heart to me, and then I speared her chest. _ ”

Kha’zix whimpered and scratched at his head, which was throbbing unpleasantly.  He didn’t even fully understand what Hecarim was talking about and it still hurt like hell, what sort of terrifying power  _ was _ that?  “Why does it make my brains hurt?” something wet pricked the corners of Kha’zix’s eyes.  He didn’t know exactly what since he hadn’t bothered to evolve tear ducts yet but he was starting to worry that it might be blood.

“See?  That’s just a taste of what I went through!”

“ So why don’t  _ you _ kick him?” asked Kha’zix, more out of curiosity than any sort of stubbornness.  

“Cause I’m too small to do real damage,” Teemo replied, his face clearly displaying the anger he felt at not being able to get back at his enemy personally.  “So I figured, since you’re so strong and all that, you’d be able to kick him way harder than I ever could.”

Kha’zix would have been flattered had it not been for the pain from hearing Hecarim’s poetry; it was hard to be anything but extremely annoyed when it felt like there were dozens of beetles trying to burrow their way  _ out _ of his head, as little sense as  _ that _ made.  Hearing this made him wonder what  _ good _ poetry was like, and whether he should be deathly afraid of it or not.  Surely if  _ bad  _ poetry was this painful, the real thing must be some sort of terrifying combat art that would kill near instantly if one caught ear of it.

“Making it hard to think but,” Kha’zix winced as a fresh verse reached them and looked down at his legs, which while they were indeed very nice legs, didn’t look like much good for the sort of kick Teemo probably wanted.  “I’m not sure how I should kick him.”

“Hmmm,” Teemo clamped his hands over his ears, squishing them against his helmet as he thought.  “Alright, I’ll show you my ultra super secret kick technique.”

“Okay,” Kha’zix’s eyes narrowed in a squint as he looked down at Teemo, not due to any ill will toward the yordle but because the poetry was hurting him so much.  “Show me.”

“ First, you think of someone who makes you  _ really mad _ ,” Teemo grit his teeth and his eyes—normally hidden by his squint—bulged in pure, terrifying fury as he thought of Hecarim forcing him to proofread the disgusting disaster that was his love poetry.  “And then, you focus all of your feelings of hate and rage in your foot,” he lifted his right foot, which was the one he would’ve been kicking Hecarim with had he been big enough.  “And once you feel like you're so full of rage you’re about to burst, you kick!” Teemo’s foot shot forward fast enough to kick up a small wind, and with enough momentum to carry his body upward a few inches.  He landed, let out a long sigh as he calmed himself, then turned to Kha’zix, “Now you try.”

Kha’zix plumbed the depths of his mind for someone who made him truly angry, trying to ignore the awful poetry in the background as he did so.  Hecarim was very steadily climbing up the hate list, but in the end Kha’zix couldn't really come up with anyone who infuriated him just by thinking of them.  He was fairly amiable in regards to Rengar—even if the feeling wasn’t mutual—since the hunter was fun to play with and didn’t break easily, Kassadin was just creepy, and Riven got to have bunny ears but that wasn’t really grounds to hate someone and this awful poetry was making him  _ really _ irritable and he just wanted it to stop.

A growl started deep in Kha’zix’s abdomen and slowly worked its way up, building in volume as it travelled.  “Rrrrrrgh,” his body began to shake with rage and frustration, which he concentrated in his right foot just like Teemo told him to.  “ _ Rrrrrrrrrrgh, _ ”  his eyes bulged; he just wanted the awful noise to stop.  “ ** Rrraaaaaawrrgh! ** ”  Kha’zix surged out of the bush and hurtled for Hecarim, who was still obliviously spouting off poetry as he had been for the past half hour.  “ ** JUST SHUT UP YOU  ** _** FOOL ** _ **! ** ”  Kha’zix thundered as he landed a kick directly on Hecarim's hindquarters.

Teemo was a good teacher.  The kick didn't just knock Hecarim over, it knocked him  _ flying _ over the treetops like a bright blue comet and off into the night.

Kha’zix tilted his head back and let loose a terrifying primal scream of victory, still riding high on the wave of rage that had overcome him.  He drooped as the echoes died away, and shook himself to settle his wings and spikes.  “I feel better now,” he said brightly, happy that Hecarim’s wretched poetry stuff no longer polluted the air, or his ears.

“That was great!” Teemo hollered as he dashed out of the bush.  “That was the best Super Duper Ultra Rage Kick I’ve ever seen!”

“Thank you,” Kha’zix crossed his claws before him, flattered by Teemo’s compliment.

“Come over to my place and I’ll get you set up with the bunny ears, and even an outfit too if you want,” Teemo started down the path and gestured for Kha’zix to follow, which he did with great enthusiasm.

* * *

Ezreal was happily stargazing out in the Piltovan countryside when he noticed a brilliant blue meteorite soaring overhead.  It looked like it would land somewhere nearby, and excitement filled the Prodigal Explorer when he realized that he might have the privilege of being the first to lay eyes on this visitor from space.  He used the power of his gauntlet to keep pace with the brilliant flame as it blazed across the sky and landed just a few yards ahead.

Thoughts of what he was going to do with the meteorite were just filling Ezreal’s head when he looked down into the crater—and found Hecarim just starting to pick himself up at its bottom.

“ Oh, it’s just _ you _ ,” Ezreal grumbled as he glared down at Hecarim.

“What do you mean ‘it’s just you’?  How rude!” Hecarim exclaimed, still-wobbly legs doing their best to navigate the steep side of the crater.  He wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened, just that he heard someone screaming something, and then there was sudden pain in his hindquarters followed by his flying through the air at impressive speed.

Ezreal had slunk off somewhere by the time Hecarim reached the top, and it occurred to the centaur that his current misfortune must surely be the work of some rival trying to foil his plans for wooing Irelia.  “Fear not, my sweet Irelia!” Hecarim cried as he galloped back toward his practice oration spot.  “I will win your heart and guard you against the despair of life!”

* * *

Kha’zix was called in for another match the next day, and he appeared in the Rift with what looked like an entire forest’s population of rabbits stuck to him.

Olaf stared at the Voidreaver for a few moments, trying to come up with a proper way to ask the question on his mind without being messily slaughtered by Kha’zix for it.  “So...  Kha’zix,” he started, eying what appeared to be a pair of genuine bunny ears tied to the creature’s head.

“Yeah?” Kha’zix turned to Olaf, apparently quite happy despite how ridiculous he looked.

“What’s with the...  Bunny ears, and stuff?” he pointed to the strips of fur that had been so carefully color-coordinated and placed neatly around Kha’zix’s wings and shoulders, something the Voidreaver probably wouldn’t have been able to accomplish on his own.

For one terrifying moment Kha’zix opened his mouth—it was a grin but still frightening all the same—to reply, but stopped and shut it again as he remembered something.  “I lost a bet!” he said, still looking happy in spite of losing aforementioned bet.  “I bet that I couldn’t kick Hecarim over the forest and I did, so I lost.”

Olaf blinked as he reviewed what Kha’zix had just said, trying to sort out exactly what sounded wrong about it.  “You know what, I’m just gonna leave it,” he stated, and with that he started out into the Field.  It was incredible to think that a little runt like Teemo would be gutsy enough to bet Kha’zix  _ anything _ , let alone get him to wear bunny ears when he lost.  And the fact that it looked like Kha’zix was wearing the remains of actual rabbits...  Olaf shoved the rest out of his head before he could go further—nope, best not to think about it anymore.

The match seemed to be going normally for a while as Olaf traded blows with Tryndamere in the topmost lane.  He was almost able to forget what Kha’zix showed up looking like when he noticed the Voidreaver moving up the river to gank for him.  Olaf tightened his grip on his axes and wondered if he’d be able to keep acting normally so Tryndamere wouldn’t catch on.  Thoughts of rabbits started to creep into Olaf’s head, and he started to chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” Tryndamere growled as he watched Olaf try to recover himself.

Tryndamere learned then and there, that at times laughter truly is nature’s greatest bait.

“ ** I’M A BUNNY! ** ”  Kha’zix screamed, mouth open wide, claws fully extended, and luxurious rabbit fur ruffling in the wind as he dove straight for Tryndamere.

 


End file.
